Seventy-seven summers

Seventy-seven summers

I caught the Russian word 'let',
As you spoke your age,
Of seventy-seven 'summers',
Each one a stage,

For eternity memories,
Bright sun and sky,
Childhood feelings,
No 'what's', just 'why?',

That August fifteenth,
When you first kissed a face,
The heartache in hiding,
When you made it a race,

To run hard and forget,
That the summer had been,
Yet sixty and more
Lay ahead, far unseen,

Clouded by winters,
The sweet springtime thaw,
Smiles in your doteage,
Reveal how much more.