it goes without saying

growing old seems impossible to the young, and we, the old, still feel young inside.

it goes without saying,

but we always say it, don't we?

we beg for understanding, and

when it comes, deplore its clumsiness.

the outward manifestation

of ourselves has been stretched

and battered

and gravity has had her way with us.

if we were fiddles, would we be fit?

how fine it would be to fit in . . .

would we even know how to act?  probably not.

what we are without,

the image the world thinks is us

is certainly not what we are within,

is it?

try to imagine finding that niche, maneuvering oneself

into that niche.

doesn't seem to work, does it? A little too snug,

too many pinches

where we do not wish to be pinched.

us in niches?

naahhh

when i was growing up, i was constantly admonished

to grow up, get my head out of the clouds, stop dreaming.

how obscene to tell a child to stop dreaming.

well, my feet are on the ground now,

it goes without saying.

  firmly planted,

welded to mother earth,  leaden ponderous feet

rooted into the dirt, the mud, the gravel.

but we can still see the clouds,

we see the flowers dancing in the wind.

we hear the music of the night,

the crickets, the birds, the frogs

and the tinkling of the windchime.

so it goes without saying

that we are still part of this

grand landscape,

and we still feel seventeen inside,

it goes without saying.

 

Reviews

[Angi]

I don't know where the time has gone. I truly was 17 only yesterday! Love this piece. Angi~

[annie lee]

Thank You! I really think I need to stop referring to myself as an old lady -- I'm giving it validation by doing that. The spirit of youth has not left us, only the appearance.