Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Forty, once.
Twice that now, and more.
Waiting.

Waiting all those years
in Abbott’s Flatland,
seasons without salt,
no hill to climb,
no valley on its other side.

I shouldn’t have waited.
I should’ve lived
till I was forty.

Jim 4/15/2009

I sense Philip Larkin's sentiments here. Mine too at times. But I do like the honesty of this poem, Jim, and its set out.

Very good. I don't believe for a minute that you have any wasted years behind you, but a good poem about someone who might have some wasted years.