Sonnet 73, Preceded by Retirement Announcement

In a few days, specifically 8-April-2022, I will officially start my retirement. I am 71 right now; past the time that Psalm 90 verse 10 gives as our span:

"The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years..."

So retirement seems well-justified if not well-earned. One of the things I intend to do in retirement is be more faithful in writing blog entries here. My friends and family tell me that I am "still good" as regards mental faculties. Certainly writing more and walking more for exercise will be on the agenda, going forward.

And here is Shakespeare sonnet 73, that touches on aging:

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.