May Sarton

                                                                                                                                            Coming into eighty

I slow my ship down

For a safe landing.

It has been battered,

One sail torn, the rudder

Sometimes wobbly.

We are hardly a glorious sight.

It has been a long voyage

Through time, travail and triumph,

Eighty years

Of learning what to be 

And how to become it.

                                                                                                                                                One day the ship will decompose

and then what will become of me?

Only a breath 

Gone into nothingness


Or a spirit of air and fire

Set free?

Who knows?

                                                                                                                                                Greet us at landfall

The old ship and me,

But we can’t stay anchored.

Soon we must set sail

On the last mysterious voyage

Everybody takes

Toward death.

Without my ship there,

Wish me well.