On His Eightieth Birthday Poem by Walter Savage Landor
On His Eightieth Birthday
Rating: ★2.8
To my ninth decade I have tottered on,
And no soft arm bends now my steps to steady;
She, who once led me where she would, is gone,
So when he calls me, Death shall find me ready.
Friday, January 3, 2003
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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8/12/2026 10:08:46 AM # rel_20260811T123139Z_a98d49b
The poem gives an inside view of an old man's desperate mind. A very emotional write. Thanks.