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To the present Me
A fleeting glance in the passing
caught me off gaurd;
I see myself.
But I don't recognize
The stranger seems familiar
is it distortions in the mirror
or is it her
that makes her a stranger?
Been long enough
since I spent time with her
listening to her joys
fixing her hear break.
And life seems to rush past
before you know it
She is wrinkled with snow for hair
And full of regrets
There she is,
Looking at me with animosity
I took her for granted
didnt find time for her
cos I was too caught up in life
I try to cajole her
put a smile on her real face
and make her ebullient
cos arthitis never touches the soul.
