Oh dear. It has just taken me about an hour to write a relatively simple letter about my car to the garage where I have it serviced. I kept hitting the wrong keys and my hands were shaky. I had just come in from Book Group and was in a hurry (not a good time to attempt anything I agree). But I am sure everyone over seventy reading this will agree that there is no fun in getting old - you have to laugh and joke about it, otherwise you would cry!!
Yesterday, tidying a book shelf after taking down my Christmas cards, I came across a little note book holding some of the poems I wrote in 2010. It is perhaps wrong to call them 'poems' - I stopped writing because I became aware that what I was writing was rubbish poetry really. But this poem, when I read it this morning, just hit the spot. So I thought I would put it on for my post today - just about sums up my feelings!
Where has she gone that slender girl
with shining hair and pale, clear skin?
I look in the glass and see no trace
of that young girl; although within
my head she's just the same.
The thickening waist, the greying hair,
the creaking joints, the wrinkled face -
all tell me tales of passing time.
Yet in my head they have no place
in this life's ageing game.
Inside December still gives way to June.
I sing the same song, dance
to the same tune.
Could be they cover mirrors when I die,
but 'til that time my mirror doesn't lie.