The Big Five-O

I used to think that age would bring contentment,
a sense of things complete from the perspective of fifty, say
- two settled daughters, the respect of colleagues,
new cars snugly backed into the double garage -
but now, at half that age, I am alarmed
by things still undone: white-water rafting, Rome,
that undrunk bellini, Don Quixote on the shelf.
It must be rare to feel a life completely lived.
And though once I feared there were enough poems,
the inordinate now stands waiting wordless.
There are more than thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird,
more than fifty - my god!
Everything is still to be said.