Be careful when sixty four,
Things are different,
Pains the same,
Totes of book you once lifted without thought,
Don’t try with I knew that in the spring before my sixty-fifth birthday,
You could not tell me that,
I would have been sure you were wrong,
Still my hitch between my shoulder and my elbow is enflamed,
November fifty two thousand and twenty-three,
I will still attempt,
The great fete’s of my youth,
Thought nothing of when twenty,
And shy away from pretty girls,
Ruth hates it when I say I’m just,
But I am just a book selling animal living historian,
Non accredited Tomboy,
Val Heike Whitewolf
Val Whitewolf 