When I turn 60
I'll think of myself as old
wise, perhaps, but old¬
These 14 years of youth left
let me purr
in the abandonment of youth
softly turning
I wish to create a world
softly turning¬
Kids grown up, myself absorbed
in the wonderment
of creating and of having created¬
My wish to create a world
dashed, perhaps, but still there¬
Old and wise and plummeting
softly turning¬
But my world will exist
or if not
softly fading
I think, I know, something
of it
will exist
if only this.