On Waking Poem by Ian Keenan
On Waking
I sit here
eating Pecan Plaits,
uploading some old party pics,
and feeling guilt.
Others rant at work,
or sweat between the hoovering
of the house and chasing up the kids,
or wait to bring the washing
from the line.
I may be old,
my right knee giving me
too much gyp,
but wonder more and more
at my great fortune,
to feel life's miracle of warmth
we call the sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 5:41:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I like this one, a reflection on retirement perhaps?