When I was just 9, I wished br For the days to fall and turn and br Make me 10. Accomplished. br br At 12, I longed to leave town br And move house again. Fresh br Start, new friends. Another down. br br When 15 and troubled I pleaded for reversal br Of the previous two. This is not life, br Oh, sorrow. A mere rehearsal. br br Now 18, I am pushing boundaries hard, br Wishing once again for the days to pass. br Seeking escapism in trying to be a bard. br br At 81, I might wriggle from a single bed br With the cripple of Parkinsons or arthritis, br Or I might be lost at home, wishing br br All those wishes had never been said.