Thirty Nine

By John I. Blair

And today we find ourselves
In year the thirty-ninth
Since exchanging wedding bands;
Thirty nine, the multiple
Of three, the blessed trinity,
And thirteen,
The unluckiest of numbers.

Well the unlucky part is obvious
To tally up: a litany of woes
That age has brought, from hurts
To losses, hair gone, friends gone,
Mobility and choice constrained,
Horizons narrowed
And our sight and hearing dimmed.

But what was not a certainty
Has paid for all the pain
With open hand,
For our descendants now are three:
Besides our son, his wife . . .
And their daughter
Oh so grand!

(c)2006 John I. Blair