by Jenny Leigh
A poem about the way we see ourselves aging.
|My hair is blonde, my eyes are bright.
My energy is high, my skin is tight.
I am so young, I am so free.
I'll never grow old, I'm twenty-three.
My hair's still blonde, I have glasses now.
Not as much energy. I feel like a cow.
I am still real young. I'm still alive.
Don't call me old, I'm forty-five.
My hair went grey. My eyes are fine.
I have grand-kids. I see them some time.
I am still young. Not ready for Heaven.
I'm still not old, I'm sixty-seven.
My hair is white. I can no longer see.
No one comes around, to visit with me.
I am still young. Even if it's just in my mind.
Don't tell me I'm old. I'm Ninety-nine.