Old Philosophers


Out here in the yard,
enjoying this fine day—
who knows when the
opportunity will come again?
Tomorrow I could break
a leg, the continent might
split—scientists are always
talking about the risks
of asteroids or comets.
I have no idea
why I love quiet and
the simple joy of Being.
A quiet breeze on a warm
day and I'm as content
as can be. Perhaps when I
nap the boundaries are
blurred—when I wake
I might be fifty again,
or twenty-five. Most of
the time it's thirteen
or fourteen—certainly
not seventy. Old
philosophers talk of
infinity or timelessness.
All I know is my love of
the green grass of childhood—
the sweet blackberries
that I pick today.