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An eighty-something writes something
To the effect that the body
Lets you know, by eighty-something,

That it’s got no business being
Around and living at such age
And takes pains to remind itself.

Oh, to be an eighty-something
Possessed of perspicacity
And the gifts to write about it.

That would be success, wouldn’t it?
And yet you wouldn’t want to be
In that place immediately.

That’s the thing about sage old age
As accomplishment—admire it
All you want, you still don’t want it.