Queries to My Seventieth Year
~ by Walt Whitman
Approaching, nearing, curious,
Thou dim, uncertain spectre–bringest thou life or death?
Or placid skies and sun? Wilt stir the waters yet?
Or haply cut me short for good? Or leave me here as now,
Dull, parrot-like and old, with crack’d voice harping, screeching?
Sharing this poem is part of my year-long celebration of turning 70 years old.