An AI Poem

For Getting Old

Sixty Shades of Loralyn
by Loralyn , wearing readers

(My publisher didn't want this as it was AI-generated, but I loved it, so I am putting here.)

At sixty years, I took a look,
Not in the mirror (I’m not that shook).
But deep within, where wisdom grows,
And back pain flares from opening windows.

I’ve danced with herbs, brewed up some spells,
And had some jobs that felt like... wells.
But through it all, I laughed and learned,
And sometimes, yes, I slightly burned.

Mistakes? Oh friend, I’ve got a pile.
I’ve hit “reply-all” with a fart joke file.
I’ve shown up late, I’ve missed my cue,
I once wore slippers to an interview.

But here’s the trick (don’t tell the youth):
It’s not the wins, it’s loving truth.
Truth that you can always pivot,
Even when knees say, “Let’s not risk it.”

Take up a hobby, paint a gnome,
Adopt a chicken, rearrange your home.
Try crypto once (then cry alone),
And find strange joy in moss and stone.

Speak to that stranger who loves sea glass,
Or trains, or stamps, or vintage brass.
Let their weird joy rub off on you,
It’s cheaper than therapy (and Botox, too).

So here’s to sixty, loud and clear,
With laughter, blunders, and thrift-store gear.
Be curious, kind, and slightly odd,
You’re not a mess. You’re a gift from God.

(And if your joints should creak and moan,
Just say they’re singing in baritone.)