Eighty-three is happy to be here.
Inclination makes her so inclined.
Gifts of temperament, like gifts of grace,
Hang the veil of choice across her face,
Thus making will the uncaused cause of kind.
Yet one wears clothes that one was born to wear.
There is much, of course, that she must bear,
Having lost a portion of her mind.
Recent trains are difficult to trace,
Ending up in alleys dark and blind.
Even so, there's much she still holds dear.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon