Forty-five

I bet you think today I am going to write
About birthdays and getting old
How I just can’t remember quite
What I have or have not been told
Bet you thought that this was the day
I would celebrate and lament
But all I can really think to say
Is I am ‘middle-age content’

I don’t mind the years that are slipping by
As my youth slips farther away
I don’t miss the dream that shone in my eye
In some by-gone yesterday
I really enjoy the ache in my bones
I’ve earned it, don’t you agree?
Lamenting my age is like kicking stones
And who wants to be twenty-three?

If I look in the mirror to bemoan its truth
I would not trade it away
For a couple more years of brimming youth
Without words like ‘stiff’ or ‘gray’
It’s a great day to be alive
If I could I would not turn back the page
To be something other than forty-five
Or, in other words…middle-age

No, I’m not crazy or losing my mind
To middle-age insanity
But if you believe this…may I be so kind
As to suggest that you might be?

Janet