Today's my birthday, I turn and say

to the young man sitting to my side.

He looks at me in some surprise;

words unspoken, speak:

Seriously, at your age you continue to trace

the number of years you've stayed alive?

And I question myself, what it means

to celebrate a day that's just a date

which measures only the distance

from birth to now.

When the future annum holds fewer dreams,

less to be achieved,

wouldn't it now make greater sense

to count how much time remains instead?