Seventy-two is in the thick of things.
Each day he meshes like a gear with power.
Vested in the future, he discerns
Entrances everywhere he turns,
Nor does he mourn the passing of the hour.
To be is to be rich in all life brings,
Yet he finds greatest joy in what he earns.
There is but little he does not devour.
Working as he does, his hunger churns.
Over him the darkness spreads its wings.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon