Nancy L. Meek

TO BE TEN

I hated being ten years old
and wished that time would fly
So I could be a big thirteen
and go to Junior High;

Then eighteen was the magic age
until it came and went,
And then I looked at twenty-one
with hunger and intent;

And twenty-five reminded me
a quarter century’s gone;
Then thirty offered promises
but left no magic wand.

The big four-oh brought black balloons
and men that called me “Sir”,
Then fifty pulled a sneaky trick
and flew by in a blur.

Now sixty-five looms just ahead
which leaves me feeling sad
That I could not have known back then
that ten was not so bad.