Crowing Like a Crow Up Into A Scarlet Hayloft

Retirement is like when you're late to a buffet when all you're best friends are gone and nothing good is left. And because others they all went out to draw some fresh air not wanting to be betrothed with the dead, the skeletal remains of a spider, still clinging on to its web, it matters not that you're not in your grave. And you're still crowing like a crow up into a scarlet hayloft, not willing to go. Retirement is that kindling in a hearth fire that puff of air where life still loves the morning. Retirement is a moment of walking backwards casting a wild rose into a warm hand without a score. Retirement, that's the way it'll be for me when I retire, I don't care, I won't care about the day I expire, I'll catch the waves, those last few waves washed around my feet and finally, admire the sunset anew.