At 89, time ticks out its gift,
Living, breathing, loving, weaving memories that lift
The heart with gladness, happiness, fondness, faith.
Faith? Yes, in all that has been
And all that can be, though unseen.
Being sure of what is hoped for,
And certain that the future offers more.
At 89, the mind knows that truth
Is birthed in the minds of youth,
Though recognized only as age looks behind,
Loving only love, and being only kind.
89 is blind to memories of pain.
Loss. The visit of grief yet again.
And again. And again. Grief is forgotten.
No time left for what is rotten
In life. Time is precious at 89.
Time only to dwell upon the divine.
Time only to love and be loved.
Time only to love and be loved.

(2013, grandfather's 89th birthday)