WRINKLES
Gone is youth
Bearing confusion, illusion, indecision.
Doors open.
Fate whispers grab the moment.
No longer must I seek to find
The who, the why, the what of me.
I need not behave as others expect.
Freedom is mine.
Aging has me firmly in hand
When I no longer want to throw a snowball.
I’ve learned a mind lift beats a face lift,
It’s okay to shuffle slower if still have a full deck,
And the gray of my hair is no indication
Of the age of my heart or my mind.
Wrinkles don’t hurt.
Whatever advice I offer is more thoughtful
Than what I might have said at 20 or 40
The first 40 years gave me the text:
The next 30 furnished the commentary.
I still want to throw snowballs;
Catch fireflies;
Kick piles of autumn leaves;
Build sand castles.
I’ve given up climbing a tree.
How about you? Post a comment.
Julie Rose
editit601@gmail.com