Wrinkles
I wonder,
Who I will be,
When I age.
I often find myself,
At a loss,
When asked who exactly I am.
I tend to brush the chestnut locks,
Only attempting to contain my face,
Away,
And peer down,
At my steadfast feet.
I do not even know me,
Me!
It causes my heart to shrink,
And relapse.
Copyright © Melissa Ross | Year Posted 2010
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