By Idris Mears

just as plants need the right  

soil and water and light 

and the right testing  

of frost and drought 

the age of the perfectly nurtured  

body in the perfect garden 

is thirty-three  

when the glow of youth 

meets settled maturity 

and until we reach the age of forty 

we don’t have the fortitude to be  

perfectly at ease with ourselves 

and white hairs at sixty give us  

dignity without airs 

and if not perfectly stupid  

we start to be a little bit wise 

and at eighty all that is forgivable is forgiven 

and the age of the perfected soul 

is whatever time it takes  

to face death with no regrets