Ageing Me Poem by Alan Bruce Thompson

The joints are stiffer, I arch my back,
The tummy is flabby, the muscles are slack.

My bones are fragile, my skin is not soft anymore,
I crack when I fall, I don't bounce across the floor.

I can hold in my stomach and forget my receding hair,
I can pretend it's not me, and that a beauty is sitting there.

But the reality is, that it is the ageing me,
Why pretend? I would best accept it, if it is me that I will be.