Aging
There's history written upon my face
Lines and curves do not erase
My eyes are circled, my lids now sag
I carry around a stomach bag
My fanny's tired and pulls my frame
It's not arthritis, sloth is to blame
My shoulders groove from straps too tight
But still, stuff hangs, both day and night
My toenails thicken, jog left and right
My eyeglasses strengthen to aid my sight
My nails sport acrylics shaped just so
They're already neat wherever I go
I'm amused each morning as I search the mirror
For neck supports that seem to wither
Somewhere or other I've lost some inches
One foot has widened, one shoe now pinches
The mystery of how I shall evolve
Gets me up each morning to try and solve
The meaning of aging, it’s such a bother
I look in the mirror and see my mother!
Copyright © Denise Hengeli | Year Posted 2010
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