salad days
salad days…
we used to think
we’d have them
around forever
so we’d always
love them and
keep them
booked
for at least
the next
forty years
lots of time to
till the garden
in the spring and plant
the next crop of
radishes and snow peas
how about the Giant Pumpkin?
maybe next year…
time to drive up to the
Water Gap one more time
with the dogs and
camp out on the
worst night of autumn
when cold
rain drives you from
the dime-store
tent
…find a buyer for that
damned kayak that’s taking up
so much room
in the shed
time to
look for a fuel pump
for the ‘64 MG Midget
you have on blocks
in the garage
time to
buy a coffee pot
finish the novel,
paint the barn
play Vivaldi
in the hayloft
at dawn
AND
write a poem
about antiquity,
float a
rowboat on the pond
kill time
with a friend
playing gin rummy
down at the vet’s home
shoot one more
game of snooker
with that guy from
Council Bluffs
and
write a travelogue
shoot skeet
play hard to get…
…salad days…
you’re all in
and
you’re still green
aren’t you?
like The Bard says
enjoy it
because you
must, and
don’t dispair
when it’s over
just write it
all down
while you still
can
Ed's end of the planet books 
Another poem I enjoyed. I would describe your poetry as writing to the bone.
Thank you Pete. I am glad you describe my poems like that. Thanks for reading.
My husband and I can see our ‘salad days’ slowly slipping away. We found some property in the country, just a couple miles south of town. We’d like to live in the country and our minds started dreaming… but he’s 65 and I’m 61. Don’t know if we’ve got enough energy, strength and time to start over… again. We’re starting to see the bottom of that old salad bowl.
Yeah, believe me I know the feeling. I am starting to see the bottom of that bowl myself. Running short on energy, strength and time — you pretty much summed it up.