“Retired, vamoosed to a better life of living. Bolted , someone left the aged gate open. Reap all i sow, my actual prime time. I'm calling it the "ME" time of life.”

Retired, vamoosed to a sun-gold shore,  
Escaped the clock’s relentless score—  
Someone left the old gate swinging wide,  
And I bolted through, nowhere to hide  
From the laughter in my chest, the boundless years  
Widening before me, rinsed of fears.  

No more ties clipped neat and tight,  
No more dawns with office light—  
Now, it’s canvas, garden, page and song,  
Mornings wide as rivers long.  
I stroll where petals brush my hands,  
Reaping all I sow on gentler lands.  

This is the “ME” time, freshly coined,  
When each sunrise feels anointed—  
When coffee lingers and the novel grows,  
Where love returns in cheerful flows.  
Not a sunset, not the end—  
But the harvest where hours bend  

To the shape of dreams, soft and bright—  
My actual prime, my pure delight.  
Let younger souls chase reasons why;  
I’ll keep the gate unlatched, and try  
Every simple, golden joy I find—  
A better life, no longer confined.

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