Siesta

A post lunch siesta on a wintry afternoon
when the sweater isn’t discarded too soon,
is a Winner all right in my small world
where my little flag remains unfurled.
The lunch is important, it must fill
sweetly the stomach, the usual home-drill.
The sleep should normally never exceed
a couple of hours, what you precisely need.
The languor that lolls in your bones
is laid to rest, your vigour that climbs
a notch readies you for the evening walks
or whatever you prefer. A freshness stalks
the senses, you feel it in your talks.

Simple indeed are the pleasures of life
in old age where, away from strife,
you consciously lead the events to peace
both physical and mental, you stand at ease.
The Struggles fare past, the strains gone,
ambition and ardour are long dead.
Needs and desires are few, the bone
of contention is broken, nothing is red
in its face, you long for the green.

Remember! it all depends on what you’ve been,
your youth and middle age decide the scene.
Reward for a fecklessly honest years
is peace and poise in a life without gears.