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I am a Dewy Blossom in the Garden of Life. Regardless of my age I refuse to admit that I’m, ahem, older. Yes, time is marching past, but it does so without my cooperation. I have given up in some respects. Gravity will pull my skin down. Body parts will settle where I never intended them to settle.  Yet my spirit is indomitable. I will be a Dewy Blossom in the Garden of Life until the day I stick my spoon in the wall. (Isn’t that a great expression?  It means to kick the bucket, which is another great expression.)

All that said, I will admit to being of an age when my education meant having to learn multiplication tables, all sorts of dates, recite large sections of the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and Shakespeare. We weren’t allowed to use calculators when they did get produced small enough to afford one or be able to carry it.

The other day I happened to run across a poem, Invictus, that I was forced to memorize. I think, if you added them all up, I had to memorize about fifty pieces of literature or poetry during my elementary or high school years. I can still recite Mark Anthony’s speech from Julius Cesar and the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. I have other bits of poetry floating around in my brain.

How about you? I’ll bet you remember this, too:

Invictus, by William Earnest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.