I guess it’s too late
to live on a farm,
although it’s never appealed,
I’d never have chosen it.
Some things, though,
I wish I’d done.
And as I sit here at sixty-eight
I’m prone to say it’s too late.
I sat with a friend recently
who had pondered parallel universes,
three of them, and jobs she might try.
I’ve imagined things I could do
but fear held me back.
And fear says 68 is old,
too old for new endeavors.
Am I to sit down and wait for 94?
My parents  were that old.
At my age they were entrepreneurs.
I need not be concerned about tomorrow,
how much older I’ll feel, be, feel confined by.
I need not regret the yesterdays
I failed to fill with my dreams fulfilled.
I have today and today I can be
who I can be.