Rik George writes

In Fifty Years

Fifty years from now will we 
sit in our rocking chairs all day 
waiting until we can rest and be 
forgotten names on tombstones cut 
with the chisel, or will we replay, 
although more slowly, what we thought 
and said and did when we were young? 
I hope not, for then our time 
will be short, and our ending ought 
to be a death-defying song. 
Let’s make a triumph, teasing rhyme 
and reason from chaos. We’ll tell all 
the gloomy wardens of that dark home 
the dead inhabit, we’re living well.