Let us praise the joy of unimportance,
the gentle sway of leisure, like lilacs
bending in the May breeze.  Let's take a chance--
let the day lie before us on its back,
cozy and inviting as a hammock
strung between two big trees with canopies,
or a quilted blanket, a picnic, and Bach.
Why not?  We're a couple of jalopies
in our sixth decade with no need to rush.
Like wild geraniums, we unfold
in mornings, click ice-cubes at evening's hush.
Ah, everything's important when you're old:
Sun, rain, birds, ferns, clogged drain, mail--all equal.
We no longer have to please all people!

From Wild Fruition: Sonnets, Spells, and Other Incantations (Puddin'head Press, 2017). 
This poem first appeared in Minotaur.
Used here with the author's permission.