Poetry by Jeff Green

2903–Getting_Younger.html

Getting Younger

by cricketjeff on August 31, 2010.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

She woke up one lonely morning and left winter far behind,
Shook the sadness from her shadow and let spring into her mind.
There would be more lonely mornings but this morning she was sure
There’ would be more golden sunsets that were easy to endure.

He left and life was over, so she buried all she knew,
Doused the spark that made her special, painted all tomorrows blue,
Kissed goodbye to Summer meadows and ignored the Autumn gold;
She forgot it’s not the number that confirms you’re growing old.

The shoes she wore that morning meant she wiggled as she walked,
        A plate glass window showed she had it all.
The dreams she now remembered meant she giggled as she talked,
        Why had she ever thought she had to crawl?

The breeze blew through the branches and the leaves began to dance,
The birds sang silly love songs, broke her life out from its trance.
She knew that he had left her but she found she didn’t care,
There were days of endless sunshine, there were flowers to fill her hair.

She had thought that love forgot her but she found it still remained,
That the years weren’t lost in heartache but experiences gained.
She could always use a haircut, and a brighter summer dress
But she’s still a gorgeous woman, not a lost, abandoned mess.

The shoes she wore that morning meant she wiggled as she walked,
        A plate glass window showed she had it all.
The dreams she now remembered meant she giggled as she talked,
        Why had she ever thought she had to crawl?

Now she’s started learning salsa, and she’s found the Internet,
Where she’s met a man called Andrew, who’s a rather well paid vet.
They aren’t planning out a future, but they’ve settled on a date,
Will she really “love sashimi”? Will he be a “perfect mate”?

When they told her tempus fugit it was true but the truth —
Life is there for all who grasp it, not reserved for foolish youth.
He set out for greener pastures and she found her grass could grow,
You are not a washed up has-been while there’s still wild oats to sow!

Author notes

What, exactly, is age to you?

Is it but a number?
Does it mean the same thing for each person?
Does it represent something?
Do people change, say, from the transition from the day before their birthday to an actual new ‘number?’
What do birthdays mean?