When I am an old man
I want to sit in Italy
On a bench in the sun,
With a view behind me
And the town before,
The reverse of my life.
I will watch it all:
The birds and the buses
And the old Bitties,
And of course the weather.
I’ll wonder why I began
In a cold northern town
When places like this existed
And took a lifetime to find.
I’ll think about time
And how much I once had
And wonder how much
Might still remain.
But I won’t worry
And I won’t hurry
And I will never serve again
A To Do list or a goal
And will no more
Monuments make.
I’ll wonder why
(You know I will),
I never really did it
What I was built to,
And dabbled instead
At the edges of it all
Like a child scared of a pool.
But I won’t regret it,
No, not for a bit,
Because I’ll be old –
So crotchety old –
In Italy, no less,
Where every old man
Should get to sit.
Sincerely,
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