At 58, my life overflows,
A garden rich where everything grows.
Years have layered their stories deep,
Moments to cherish, to laugh, to weep.
Yet here I stand, with ink-stained hands,
Still crafting dreams, still making plans.
The chapters past are written true,
But the pen’s still mine—there’s more to do.
Each stroke, a choice, a bold refrain,
A masterpiece drawn through joy and pain.
No ending waits, no closing line,
Just boundless pages, each divine.
For fullness isn’t a final state,
It’s a rhythm, a pulse, an open gate.
Each day a verse, each breath a spark,
A journey lit within the dark.
So I’ll keep writing, page by page,
Defying limits, defying age.
For life’s not bound by where you’ve been,
As long as you’re still holding the pen.
💋Kristen
Comments