ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

On Aging

Sometimes I see myself
in a window, passing,
and wonder if that candid image
is the me that others see.
I’m frightened by that thought,
for it’s not the image I wish to portray;
shoulders hunched, tread unsteady,
eyes alive only in appreciation of
the young girl who smiles
as we choreograph our passing.
Where is the vitality
that once defined
every measure of my being?
Where did youth go?
In these moments I am vulnerable
and seek the affirmation
of old friends and strong ale.

Your eyesight's still pretty good

Marty

( ) ....hey Wazza, it went with the privilege of ageing mate. (The alternative ain't that flash.) Chin up old son, you're doing prettty well.
Cheeers....

Yep, chin up, then you don't see the double chins! Good one Wazza!

Heather

Yes it is Marty. Not too good before the implants though.

You're right about the alternative Glenny but there are days when I wouldn't use the word privilege.

Yes Heather ... i have got a bit of the turkey gobbler. Aah well, perfect in all other aspects.

Wazza