Birth Month Reflections

 I will be turning 77 years old this month.

Seventy-Seven.

No longer a spring chicken.

No more dancing on a tabletop after a drink or two too many.

Now I'm more apt to fall over my own feet simply walking through our living room.

All the more reason to stick to calmer activities - like sharing poetry.  😎

I once knew a woman

With lines on her face

Who’d lived most her life

In a much different place

A place where those lines

Were respected, revered

Where it was known

They held the wealth of her years

And here, in a place

That was scared to grow old

She made us all realise

The beauty age holds

For one day she stood

And attracted a crowd

She started to speak

As we all gathered round

And we hung on each word,

We were all mesmerised

For her voice was so powerful,

Knowing and wise

She smoothed down the crown

Of her hair on her head

Then she lifted her chin

And her voice as she said

“These lines are not something

To hide or to fear

But something that says

‘I have lived, I was here’

They’re not to be counted

Like bars of a cage

But like rings of a tree

That grows stronger with age

Grounded and grand

Persevering and proud

I’ve earned every stripe

So I’ll wear them out loud

And though you might think

I’d look better with none

Just wait til you learn

How I earned every one

Because I’m much more

Than the way that I look

And these lines on my face

Are like lines from a book

That holds all the tales

Of the things gone before me

So come, take a seat

And I’ll tell you my story.

     - - - Becky Hemsley

art | Krystal Kliedon