Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.
On My Golden Years
And why wouldn't I be the hermit of the neighborhood?
I would have, by then, seen infinitely more than I should
Of a cruelty that might just have it out for me.
And why don't I agree with the young?
Could they put a price on my retired life?
My seclusion is not without reason,
I've been drawn thin; my body revolts
But I'm not alone
I have a picture,
Hanging in my mind,
Of what retirement is.
I have no reason to hold back;
I only wish I could,
Because I don't think you're ready
For a loneliness I will not know.