Turning 50

I look in the mirror and see

A face that surely can’t be me

The hint of wrinkles and spots

A far cry from freckles and blotches

Hair no longer blonde, purple, or pink

The gray coming in quicker than a blink

It leads me to think

What I see can’t really be me

Inside still many hints of the lonely little girl

So afraid of the world

Dreams yet to be

Plans unfolding

As the potter continues to shape

It can’t really be me

Hugs to give

Kisses to share

Sunsets worthy of time and care

Paths to travel

Words to speak

Yet the image in the mirror

Moves in time

A little more slowly

Perhaps with more care

But certainly not too old for a dare

To climb out of the box

And dance with the little girl

Who is able to trust a little more

While the days fly

No time for worries about what passes by