Whispering in the wind
Always, I hear whispers in the wind
I hear the number 62,
And I wonder what did I do,
And the wind keeps whispering me.
What does it mean?

Then remembering, the people I have lost
Five of them, all age 62
And why did this happen, at what cost?
All different lives, different ways they left.
It still doesn’t make sense.
But then again, it should mean something to me

It doesn’t seem right it seems
That at 62 one’s life should be through.
And the wind whisper 62 one more time
And when it does, I realize, that age is mine.

Mary Lacey
April 2019