Monday, March 26, 2012

Shadow Dance


It isn't the shadows on the wall,
Shadows of people young and tall,
That taunt the elderly every day,
In a particularly cruel way.......
It's the belief in each stupid brain
That they really are sixteen again!
No! Not again, but sixteen really!
I feel it very, very clearly.
The grey matter in my silly head
Hasn't realized I'm old instead!
It still looks forward, and gets a thrill,
Not knowing I'm really over the hill.
It fantasises about a future time
Free from all disease and crime,
Not admitting it just wont be
On the earth to actually see.
'I'm young! I'm young!' Grey Matter sings,
Feeling as though it flies on wings,
But I look in a looking-glass
And I know that it is all a farce.
Keep your dancing shadows! It is the brain
That teases the old and causes pain.


Few things age as gracefully as books;
Though worn they still retain appealing looks.
Though their spines become more tattered,
And they're sometimes coffee-splattered
Or grease-stained by enthusiastic cooks.
I speak of books with character, of course;
Such as 'Fairy Tales Translated from the Norse',
Or 'Traveling in Persia',
'How to Overcome Inertia',
Or 'How To Send Your Messages by Morse.'
I don't include the modern paper-back,
Which may be written by a passing hack,
But books of ancient leather
Lined up on shelves together,
Alongside some historic Almanac.
I sometimes wish that I were such a book
And I could show that aged-but-lovely look;
That my wrinkles could prove charming,
And not quite so alarming!
But I'm the girl the book-look quite forsook!


No comments: