a blurry reflection in wintry pond
from my pocket something priceless falls
“plop” is the sound I hear
I consider as it silent calls
“ninety years is too soon”
says old, wizened but sharp of mind
two wives I never intended to bury
for the century mark, I have time
I ponder his possibilities
friends mostly gone
better save your pennies
your days are long
a blurry reflection in wintry pond
from my pocket something priceless falls
“plop” are its last words
I consider as it silent calls
Sharing this with Poet’s United the prompt this week Nineties
penned in moon dust 