It was silver sneakers time again this morning, 8:00 sharp, more than 50 brave elderly champions in the gym at the Y, swaying 

and stretching and bending and twisting 

in every possible way. Today I found 

the stretch cord exercises to be 

especially brutal. How can such a soft, flexible cord be so cruel to my old arms and shoulders? However, I carried on courageously, 

and -- surprise -- 

didn't look at the clock for the entire hour! 

I wrote another traditional kind of poem today -- actually, a sonnet -- and thoroughly enjoyed the process. Again, I felt remarkably relaxed as I let the words and rhythms sort of lead the way. 
Here it is:

EXERCISE

(an old guy thinking)

He knows he needs his exercising class,

but he can see now, too, that exercise

is always happening. The universe’s glass

of fitness is always full. Its mornings rise

with energy, its evenings push back in,

and all the moments move with lively grace.

While he sits still, the cells inside him spin

with spirit, and his bloodstreams briskly race

with cheerful elegance and force. All day

and night his heart is lifting up the weight

of all his life, and with a steady sway

and swing the moments and the hours skate

along to keep the universe in health.  The class

he takes is just a part of all this active wealth.