WHAT WAS MY PURPOSE?

I still don’t know why I was born,

or what my purpose was.

 ~
Was it to be a gardener
 and take photos?

~ ~ ~

Was it to write poems?

At seventy-eight

I breathe in the pure clean air

above the tree line.

Whispers from the Universe are nearer.

Now I may unlock the doors

tap the red shoes

and go home.

~ ~ ~
Maybe, to keep an illustrated journal?

 ~ ~ ~
Or, write an unpublished memoir?

~ ~ ~
 Was I born to write music?

~ ~ ~
Or, to be a mother?

 ~ ~ ~
Was it just to be a friend?

 ~ ~ ~
Not a dilettante artist!

 ~ ~ ~
Maybe to be a lazy bum?

Yes! Most likely a lazy bum!

A dib, dab dilettante!

I've just been making it up

as I go along.

And now sending it to
cyber-space.
Maybe the dead are tuned in.

~ ~ ~

These days I have less energy,

or reason to do much of anything.

But when the Brown High Newsletter

came around again

to those of us who are left,

 I was reminded of

Mrs. Lyle’s kindergarten class in 1942

at J. C. Harris Grammar School

and I know some of them
 are still listening.

and my new OLLI friends

 might read this too.

~ ~ ~

I don’t think I was born
 to write music.
It's just that

  music has consoled me.

So, I bought myself

 a ukelele for Christmas.

(old album covers in the background)

I wrote my first song

on a little plastic ukelele

back in 1951.

It made me happy.

~ ~ ~

thanks if you read this!

stay tuned . . .

or scroll down and read

The Plum Tree is Blooming Again