A Poem by Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman at seventy

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.

4 thoughts on “A Poem by Walt Whitman

  1. Kay

    Golly, he looks old. Ha! Age numbers are a funny thing – when I was turning 60, it was harder for me to accept that 30 or 40 or 50. I actually remembered my grandmothers when they were in their early 60’s and they seemed very old and feeble and ‘no teeth’. I know a lot of that was the time and no dental care because they were poor, but still. They were certainly not ‘checking their step number’ and wearing capris and athletic shoes and doing yoga or an IronMan like a lady in my WW group who is 63. So, Robin, I celebrate 70 with you (though maybe not like Walt) and I’m not going to worry about turning that age when my time comes. We will embrace every age!

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    1. Robin Post author

      I’m so happy to have you celebrate 70 with me this year! He does look sooo old in this photo and I told my husband that he must have lived a hard life. (I’ll have to read more about him.) I thought this poem was interesting, and the questions profound. He’s a wonderful poet. But I will simply embrace this milestone, with the help of friends.

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