Gold leaves of autumn drift by my window
Caught by the breeze, dancing happy butterflies.
I watch them fall like lace on my windowsill.
Winters calling cards, our earth drifting into sleep
New growth will murmur beneath this sleeping giant
I have heard it called a blue marble
It reminds me of my childhood.
In my golden years, or so I am told
But my mind feels half my age.
I wonder sometimes if my mind will ever
Catch up with my 72-year-old body.
I seem to have passed this gene onto my children.
I remember my daughter at twenty
Turned away from the cinema, a film for 18-year-olds.
With no way to prove her age, she came home distraught
I told her she would love it in later years.
Would that the body would remain in this state.
I hate my stairs, they remind me I am no Peter Pan
It is all in my head…