TURNING 50
By Susan Adams
Racing there with frantic shock
And digging heels to slow the clock.
Packing all the travel in
Before the limbs grind, weak and thin
And terrified of gravity.
Disbelieving age can mark
As tree rings toll the ancient bark.
The time spent well, the candle lit
At both ends ‘til the center’s hit
Scared silly of senility.
Stillness beckons like a witch
A temptress of the aging bitch.
A voice says “finish up in time,
Before you feel quite past your prime,”
And fearful of futility.
Yet still the young girl comes to call
The makeup covers all the flaws
The mirror a friendly gentle wish
The meet the girl, that sexy dish
And hopeful still of agelessness.
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