They think what they see is me;

Wrinkles, a bit of a stoop,

The careful planting of a foot

Knowing what a fall means.

My hair is gray, my eyes dim

But this is only the outer me.

Inside I am that fierceless girl,

The one who climbed the highest tree

And dared the boys to race home

And won every time; fast as the wind.

I am slow now and see the impatience

As people sigh and step around me,

Hurrying this way and that.

Feeling their disregard hurts,

And I wish I could disappear

As I am sure they would like me to.

But then I find the memories

And I am flying past on my way home,

My legs pumping and my spirit free.

That is the real me inside this old body.