My Nothing Age

A Roundabout

Ah, there is something ‘bout my age

I do not like at all.

I sound the fool,

But it ain’t cool;

Sixty-eight is just dull.

Complaining takes a lot of gull,

But I’m a stubborn mule

About this thing.

It has no ring,

No ripple in the pool.

It is not a biggie; doesn’t rule.

Just an inbetween ping,

Another page.

It has no rage,

No sputter, spit or drool.

It is a year that does not sing,

Not really for a sage.

But fall plus fall,

I’ll get to call

Seventy center stage.