Pleasures grow rarer as you age

An observation, not complaint

As cravings, too, diminish

In fact, you reach the stage

Where nothing matters much,

Not even staying alive.

You could give yourself to meditation

Mature reflection, calm detachment,

Become an elderly philosopher.

But, somethings still can rouse you

To gentle heights of satisfaction

Like the answer to the crossword's final clue

You've cracked it, the riddle of your private universe. Sorted, solved.

Watch glory glitter round it, the word

That took so long to find, resplendent now

Surrounded by its easier going fellows.

The crossword box becomes a throne

On which you crown yourself, before

Being subject to philosophy once more.

BERNIE BROWN Leslie Road Forest Fields