Intrepidly Through Her Eyes

Though my eyes my have dark circles And my hands have become hardened and blotchy from life My worth is valued I have seen the discarded past of war and men Progress accelerated through fields of gold But at heart I am not old I may sit by the window dressed in holiday attire And my legs have become thin as wire Amongst the fragrant lilies my family gave me to watch I smell the dreaded aroma of mossback clothes Fermenting old pudding idle and stale left in the bowl But at heart I am not old I hear the cries of sadness weeping into the afternoon Have they cursed themselves for their inability to roam? Helplessly strapped into a existence alone Time passes with the speed of molasses Lying beside the bed are the old mans glasses But at heart I am not old Human suffering lost floating in their room In need to rest for this weary soul entombed I can still remember parts of my younger days My husband and the children we raised Though I struggle to stand tall I won’t fall But at heart I am not old