At 62 Poem, by Blue-eyed Bolla, at My poetic side

At 62, I’ll need a saviour!

Who’ll bollock me for bad behaviour

And bear upon His steely shoulder

The grief I’ll feel at growing older.

If I procure this Prince of Peace

My fear of death will surely cease!

At 62, I’ll need forgiveness!

That’s certainly a saviour’s business:

To die the death and do the bleeding

And answer people’s prayerful pleading.

For oldies too, I think you’ll find

Are sinners of the human kind!

At 62, I’ll need salvation!

For feet, I’ll need a firm foundation.

A way, a truth, a life worth living,

A Lord, who’s full of free forgiving,

A rock, who doesn’t rock or roll,

Who’s sacrosanct as sacred scroll!

At 62, I’ll need some healing!

For sickness that I’ve been concealing

Within my soul, like child who's sleeping;

I’ll wake it with my wistful weeping,

Then walk it over to the cross

And make a gain from saviour’s loss!

At 62, I’ll take it steady,

For life to come, I won’t be ready

But even so, I’ll be preparing;

Without a saviour, won’t be daring

To step into that great unknown;

Since only losers die alone!