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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
Copyright ©
Laura Mckenzie
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