Looking in the mirror, a tired face looks back at me
Slightly more aged, not as glowing as it used to be
My eye sight’s gently fading, my voice a lower tone
I start each new day with a chorus of cracks and clicks of bone
The odd sign of a wrinkle creeping on my face
My mind often wandering quietly off into space
Standing in a room forgetting why I went in there
The odd grey hair is surfacing in my dark blond hair
I find myself using words like ‘youngsters’ and ‘nowadays’
I feel myself getting older in many little ways
But I will not go quietly I’ll still act young for sure
Just cos you grow in years doesn’t mean you must be mature
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem