This end of birthday-week poem, inspired by the arrival of a new fresh year to fill with adventures.
Forty-nine
At forty-nine I look around,
see countless-footprints molded ground
that led me to this place
in time. Observe, these footprints
aren’t all mine.
I recognize a varied hoard
that walked awhile or jumped aboard
one stop or maybe two
along my way, they left a mark
that came to stay.
Dhaka 2016
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does that type of poem have a name? with the rhyme in the middle of the second last line?
Probably, but I just reinvented it for the occasion. It works well in the first stanza, perhaps less so in the second.
I like that one. That could also go for 79.
How nice 🙂