The Kid Inside

Looking in the mirror, it is apparent:
the younger man I knew has gone away.
The image that I see, indeed, is older;
a more drawn face, hair a hint of gray.

I used to have strong springs within my legs,
and bounding up the stairs was done with ease.
Now those springs apparently have rusted--
from calves and thighs there comes a plea of please.

(As I reflect I realize
  what Father Time has hid.
  It sure would be a pleasure though
  to welcome back the kid.)

How time sculpts lines and furrows on the face!
A younger me is pictured in a book.
That book has dust and sit upon the shelf;
Alas, this me is now another self.

This shape lets sag determine what is does;
the washboard’s gone--the stomach has gone slack.
It’s as if time pulls on the abdomen;
that youthful wonder just will not come back.

(As I reflect, I come to know
  the loom of time will weave.
  However much that may be true,
  the kid will never leave.)


24 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Winner
10-6-14