At Seventy

I just found this inspiring poem by Judith Viorst, one of my favorite poets. It is from her recent book of collected poems on the delusions of aging: "I'm Too Young to be Seventy..."

At Seventy

Instead of "old,"

Let us consider

"Older,"

Or maybe, "oldish,"

Or something, anything,

That isn't always dressed

In sensible shoes

And fading underwear.

Besides which,

Seventy isn't old.

Ninety is old.

And though eighty

Is probably old,

We needn't decide that

Until we get there.

In the meantime

Let us consider

Drinking wine,

Making love,

Laughing hard,

Caring hard,

And learning a new trick or two

As part of our job description

At Seventy

(or 66)

Bob