Clue of Age

Clue of Age I sat, in the garden; took in its surrounds ! View, the wizened crooked wooden fence; drooped with a crick, a downward glance ! The back of my hands, a reflection of time, Brittle skinned, blue veined unsteady; An exhaled breath, of Oh ! a map of lines, a journey of time passed,was mine; Turned palms up, no Gypsy teller could see, my journey, its broken fence, and satsified; I made no whispered, reaction, or defence.