May they never be lonely at parties Or wait for mail from people they haven't written Or still in middle age ask God for favors Or forbid their children things they were never forbidden.
May hatred be like a habit they never developed And can't see the point of, like gambling or heavy drinking. If they forget themselves, may it be in music Or the kind of prayer that makes a garden of thinking.
May they enter the coming century Like swans under a bridge into enchantment And take with them enough of this century To assure their grandchildren it really happened.
May they find a place to love, without nostalgia For some place else that they can never go back to. And may they find themselves, as we have found them, Complete at each stage of their lives, each part they add to.
May they be themselves, long after we've stopped watching. May they return from every kind of suffering (Except the last, which doesn't bear repeating) And be themselves again, both blessed and blessing.
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