Old, Who, Me

Old, who , me? I am told I am old, Old, what is that? I am old in my body, This I have to agree, The lying mirror tells me, This is what others see. When it comes to my head, And I ask if I'm old, Another story then gets told. In my head I am young and sleek, My physical body is at it's peek. I survey a job that has to be done, In my head it done before I begun. My eyes then told me what was real, Then old was what I began to feel. The job I surveyed was still at the stage, Of planning, I hadn't even turned the page. I had to admit that along the way, Plans my mind were going astray. Now that I'm in my twilight years, I have put aside all my silly fears, I look at a job and if I can do it myself I won't place it on someone else's shelf. But if I cannot, then I will not cry. I just say to myself with a little sigh, Maybe when I am young again, I'll try. © Dave Timperley 31/01/2018