At Fifty Eight Poem by Mike Finley

At Fifty Eight



It is something to celebrate,
the day one turns fifty eight.
It is the midpoint of life's domain
the fun half spent, the rest remains,
one slowly cranks up the first high bend
then roars like thunder to the end,
I drag the bag of bent clubs that are mine
and commence the back nine.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Mike Finley

Mike Finley

Flint, Michigan
Close
Error Success