Note to Self

Note to Self

Thirty was no big deal.

The same with forty.

Even fifty was a breeze.
If only the poems
would come that easily.

But fifty-two?
That’s when it hit me.
Where did half a century go?

Next year, sixty-two.

Counting down, now.

Yes, the temptation to write about “thirty”  was too much, and I succumbed.

I’ve made up for it by writing #31 for NaPoWriMo: Always There

 

30 poems in 30 days_30

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