Poem for My Seventy-fourth Year

Since this is all I know to do to stanch time’s remorseless flow
I walk the snow on trail shoes of a morning to gather wood,
bundle and tie branches together and haul them home to burn
to begin the new year, three hours before the number thirteen
starts out like me, limping, gathering speed the closer I get
to spring’s arching bowers of sweet sap coursing up from their roots.

(31 December 2012)

copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander