Birthday Poems
The Fiftieth Rung on the Ladder of Life
Methinks it be not super nifty
When one turns the magic
fifty!
Forsooth, it seems both bod’
and mind
Hath nature ravaged, most
unkind!
Unbeknownst, time took its
toll,
And now, though willing in
heart and soul,
I call to my feet, “I’m in a
running mood!”
They answer back, “Forget it,
Dude!
The only thing we want to
feel
Is a cushioned footstool
under the heel!”
Durst I not know? I anguish and weep
That now I choose an
afternoon’s sleep
Instead of football,
baseball, or track.
And incentive to work? I totally lack!
“To be or not to be!” The
question rages.
The answer ballyhooed down
through the ages.
But as for me, my response is
thrifty,
“Don’t ask me, Bub, I just
turned fifty!”
Bob Downing May 5, 1993
____________________________________________________________
Nothing rhymes with sixty;
it’s an awkward, frustrating age!
Too young to be old; too old
to be young
Concerned your life’s song
has already been sung.
The memories of the past grow
longer…yet fade,
While the future once dreamed
seems fainter in life’s shade.
Helpless and hapless, trapped
in time’s ceaseless tide,
Then saved from the gloom by,
“Hey, Papaw! Come outside!”
The message becomes
clear. It’s not the future or past,
But the present is where our
legacy is cast.
Children and grandchildren,
the caress of a wife,
The closeness of a
family…therein lies life.
With His hand to guide us as
we travel along
Everything rhymes with sixty…if you play the right song!
Bob Downing May 5, 2003
Seventy
“
Are the days of our years; we
then “fly away.” *
An endless time…through the
eyes of the young…
Becomes hauntingly brief when
life’s song is near sung.
The horizons once faced are
now memories long past.
The victories and triumphs so
cherished did not last.
The failures, the heartaches,
the losses, and schemes
Of a life poorly spent bring
nights’ tortured dreams.
The curtains of our minds in
the dark of the night
Draw open to reveal a
troubling sight…
Unlimited youth with its
promise and fun
Has vanished away like the
dew in the sun.
The desires, the passions,
the zest for the day
Are like snowflakes that fall
and soon melt away.
The finish, once distant,
looms alarmingly near
And the memories of life
become ever so dear.
The goals, once assumed, are
now elusively caught,
And the emotion of love
becomes merely a thought.
Deeds once accomplished with
hardly a strain
Are now deeds but dreamed and
seldom without pain.
But continue we must, and
through effort and strength
The days of our lives may be
increased in length.*
With happiness and love and
good deeds to lend
“
Bob Downing May 5, 2013
*Psalm 90:10 The days of our years are threescore years and ten;
And if by reason of strength they be fourscore years,
The Eightieth Year
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In the
circle of life, there’s a beginning and end
And the
completion of such is a loss or a win.
A life
once viewed with challenge and dare
Becomes
but a vapor which fades in the air.
Memories become longer while the future grows slim
Strength
becomes fleeting and vision becomes dim.
Failures
and losses bring an occasional tear
While
victories and triumphs remain crystal clear.
With the
eightieth year comes quiet resignation
What
goals have been reached bring mild satisfaction.
An
acceptance of completion of a marathon race
And a
dream of transition to a better place.
The
promises of Scripture become vibrant and clear
When the
prospects of receiving those prizes draw near.
A life
well lived, with His guiding hand,
Brings
eternal reward in that heavenly land.
Bob
Downing May 5, 2023
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