That's life span.
At least, that's what I learned
years ago,
on Sunday mornings
at Castella Country church
I gazed out the window
at the grazing cattle
while dear Brother Hoffman
read his text
and delivered his sermon.
He waved his Testament
over the pulpit
to make a point,
quietly eloquent,
an elderly man of God,
I thought.
Probably in his fifties.
Five days a week
he taught school
in a county nearby.
I wanted to be
like Brother Hoffman,
quietly eloquent.
It wasn't to be.
I wasn't.
I have lived
my three score and ten,
(and seven more -
and more) .
I have been blessed.
The warm breezes
across the pasture,
some clucking hens,
a quiet pastor,
the Ancient of Days.
Amen. Amen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem