Am I getting old? She asked,

Wrinkles in the looking glass

Feet of crows and laugh made lines

Wishing time had been more kind.

Am I getting old? She asked

Sagging bags of motherhood

Softness where there once was firm

Had she used up her young term?

Am I getting old? She asked

Spider maps that cross her legs

Creaking knuckles, knees that crack

Slumping, tired, weary back.

Am I getting old? She asked

Echoes in an empty house

Laughter, singing, parties gone

Now they live here all alone.

Am I getting old? She asked

Never one to ask for help

Squinting, reaching, sitting back

Giving up on hair that’s black

Am I getting old? She asked

He listened as she made her list

Smiles, laughter, love and time

“You’re beautiful, because you’re mine.”

–Me

Photo credit: http://www.kaushik.net