Having made it to the age of nearly eighty
With my faculties and wits mostly intact
May indicate that I’ve been blessed innately
Or fortune has provided what I’ve lacked.
Now what to do to best deserve this grace
It is my sacred mission to endeavor
And with my wit and will firmly embrace
A calling that exhorts me to be clever.
And so it is I sit here doing this,
Gazing at my lap pad, chewing on
My pen cap, hoping that the Muse will kiss
My brow and just the right ideas dawn.
If you think that’s not happened here and now,
Then look for me tomorrow, behind my plow.