You would think that
Being seventy-five I would know things
Have wise woman insights
And discernment
That I would not be subject to petty fears and confusion
You would think that
The specter of death just around the corner
Would eliminate all but profound thoughts
And that I would be
Like Mother Teresa but Jewish
You would think that all my years of experience
Of love and loss and apathy and passion
Would have made me a sage
With sage advice
And wise words for all
But instead I am dumb with few words, wise or otherwise
I have sparse and threadbare recommendations for how to live
Instead I am reduced to saying little
Or better yet, nothing at all.
You have much to impart to us! Keep writing!