When that first sliver of grey catches your eye,
and your heart races like the sea when the tide high,
can you just pull that one out, you wonder,
but you believe old stories, and think that might be a blunder!
Like dandelions creeping up in emerald turf, from those black tresses,
a new one each day, the formidable silver streaks appear,
but there is a potion for rescue, the dye to die for, your mind presses,
So you beckon it, and voila! the black is back, and your heart can rest for a while.
Herbal or chemical, the goal is the same,
but if you don’t do something, beyond your imagination is the shame!
And behold the crevices and tributaries being deftly carved in the skin,
which may but spare only the smooth shape of your chin,
what’s the worry, the collagen, botox, a plethora of choices to stretch the hide,
but beware, cos they can pull the brows apart fiercely wide!
and then people may ponder why you look eternally surprised,
and of the money squandered, the spouse will be sadly apprised.
Ode to thee, that makes a woman flush from heat when others are cold,
hormone supplements help, but isn’t it one of the strange truths of growing old,
Mood swings like a flying kite, and temper tantrums galore,
But in the end it makes you wiser than ever, so face it with a smile, and despair no