At sixty-five I feel well,
ambitious or zealous for work
      and love, as I register
with Social Security for
      the perks of seniority.
At the same time I find myself
      resigning one by one
my peripheral chores and duties.
      Do I address the dreaded
inevitable stoppage of
      work and love by relinquishing
my hours minute by minute?
      Hopefully I concentrate
on the one day, abandoning
      prophylactic busyness
to engage the bliss of ardor.

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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 13 Number 5, on page 37
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