Try to stop the
Hands of time,
Hold this moment
For it is mine.
Try to stop the
Silver in my hair,
Stop time’s ravage
Silent as a tear.
The fat that rests
Upon my thighs,
The damned mirror
With reflective lies.
Why don’t I feel
As old as my face?
Of the youth inside
I see not a trace.
I cannot stop the
Hands of time,
With each day
Its ravages I find.
But time cannot steal
The child inside
It shall not claim
The girl I hide.
Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie 
In two days I will be 75. Well, in two days, this outer shell will be 75. Yet within there is the me who doesn’t recognize the face in the mirror, who eternally feels young, not a child, but a young woman pushing a walker. At first, I thought I was a young woman trapped in a granny body. But then I realized that I am blessed with an ageless soul who treasures life regardless of age or limitations, which are only external. Some people are old at 30, others like me, are eternally young, and still remember the joy of making mudpies. I love your poem and especially the sketch that accompanies it. Welcome to the Forever Young Club. Hugs, pat
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Beautiful note…thank you Pat.
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