! Maybe This Is What Bliss Is Poem by Michael Shepherd

Those days when an invisible armchair
relaxes you into a mood
that's an exquisite, savoured blend
of innocence and experience,
which might even be thought to be
wisdom
except you don't even need to think it
since you're simultaneously 7 and 70
and thus invulnerable

days when I wish the house had a verandah
where in the evenings I could sit:

'I'm here, I'm watching it all go by,
you can stop and chat
or wave and I'll nod;
I'm here; I'm at home.'