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 You are no longer young,
Nor are you very old.
There are homes where those belong.
You know you do not fit When you observe the cold Stares of those who sit In bath-chairs or the park (A stick, then, at their side) Or find yourself in the dark And see the lovers who, In love and in their stride, Don't even notice you.
This is a time to begin Your life.
It could be new.
The sheer not fitting in With the old who envy you And the young who want to win, Not knowing false from true, Means you have liberty Denied to their extremes.
At last now you can be What the old cannot recall And the young long for in dreams, Yet still include them all.

by Elizabeth Jennings
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