What’s this that I see,

Or that sound that I hear,

And the feeling I can’t grasp,

Questions I may have asked,

Communicating without language.

One day till Sunday I count,

Primary to higher I climb,

Subtly losing the grasp of time,

As black grasses grow tall on my chin,

And my wrinkled skin retells stories.

Surprise!

The orbiting Earth has reached its 30th,

Closing in on that final chapter,

Whispering to make the most of it,

While it all lasts.