It’s just another day to most of you
I move from one day in November to
the next and, poof!, I now must suddenly
tell everyone my age is fifty three.

Sorry. It’s the best I could do this year. For some reason I’m feeling not even an ounce of poetry in these bones. Go figure.

Okay … let me try another …

Goodbye, familiar age of fifty two
It seems I’ve had enough of being you
Instead I’m moving on to fifty three
I think that it might get the best of me.


  1. I was thinking it was right around now – I will plagiarize Sondra Boynton once again:

    Hippo birdie two ewes,
    Hippo birdie two ewes,
    Hippo birdie deer ewe,
    Hippo birdie two ewes.

    (Trust me, this is much less painful than hearing me sing it.)

  2. If you were here I’d simply demand the singing, Tim! But thanks!

  3. …it would be the first and last time you would demand such a thing (I even try to sing harmony at the end – *shudder*)…

    But I will next lesson, if you’re feeling masochistic (I would have to use your piano though).