by LA Worthington

The face in the mirror’s beginning to droop,

I walk with a wobble and stand with a stoop;

Is this the same body that once was so fit?

I cannot believe I am living in it.

My vision is blurry, my hearing is dim,

I’ve lost all my vigor and most of my vim;

I assume all these changes are time’s souvenirs…

I wonder who said these are our “Golden Years”?

April 2022

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