Getting old’s a war; peace against despair.

Look back! You’ve a career not quite complete.

Anxiety separates chaff from wheat;

“Was I worthwhile?” (Does any really care?)

I cite the worthy exploits, fuel my pride.

Politely, younger people hear my boast

They laugh again at stories, drink my toast

May not remember them when I have died.

Death! Urgency subsides and I care not.

What’s done is done, with your bones interred.

An unknown legacy will be conferred.

Then peace descends; undeserved, unsought.

In other Hands our lives begin and end

their significance well beyond our ken.