I turned sixty and was feeling frisky.

Then sixty-one – still having fun.

At sixty-two, I had lots to do.

At sixty-three, I was feeling free.

Came sixty-four, I needed more.

So at sixty-five, I started to jive.

Reached sixty-six, I’d taken some licks.

By sixty-seven, I’d learned my lesson.

But sixty-eight filled my plate.

And sixty-nine went by just fine.

One decade was over and done; time to start another one.

Turned seventy – faced longevity.

Seventy-one just wasn’t fun.

Seventy-two was pretty blue.

Seventy-three, I tweaked my knee.

Seventy-four, I closed a door.

Seventy-five, I was still alive.

Seventy-six, still in the mix.

Seventy-seven has been no heaven. . .

But, seventy-eight is gonna be great!

. . .To be continued.

Katherine Burgess

Durango