Age - a number to cumber
When you are 65 years old
You may have achieved your life goal
Stack up enough cash or pots of gold
Twilight of your life is set in mold
Do you stop here; or do you toil on?
To gather more dust from morn to dawn?
Have you met your target, the line is drawn?
With grandkids you play, in your large lawn?
The irony when you work for Government
At 65, you are ‘forced' into retirement
Your body is still strong, your mind is still sound
Those characteristics are no longer count
Age is only a silly number
When the time comes, you have to cumber
You were able yesterday but today you lumber
They throw you a party, but the mood is somber
I can't imagine what you are going thru'
From now on, no deadlines to brew
If it was me, I would be so blue
It must be strange to be in your shoe
Happy birthday, happy retirement, my friend!
This poem is a reflection after attending a birthday-cum-retirement party of a colleague professor
Noor Othman's Other Poems
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