Inner Child by Frances Jackson
Don't dare tell me I am too old
and cannot wear this cheerful blush
nor wear skewed lips and dye my hair
nor paint these toenails blue.
I've found my inner child, you see
and now she won't or can't shut up
she's ruined my chance of growing old
or even growing up.
At end of day, I fall in bed
and wait to see if I will die
so hard and fast I've seized the day
so convincing was the lie.
Morn arrives, with aches and pains
Youth whispers, "Still okay!"
(under the covers with tired old me)
"Now - let's go out and play!"
Here is the commentary from Patch poetry maestro Jeff Burkhart:
Frances Jackson sent me this wonderful poem entitled, "Inner Child". You young folks may not realize it from looking at our aging exteriors, but even though we of advancing years seem old to you, we feel young in the temples of our minds. Ponce De Leon, in his quest for the fountain of eternal youth, tells me that resisting the vagaries of Father Time has been a concern since long ago. Today more than ever, aging populations are still seeking those magical waters. Well Francis, I for one am with you 100%. We will have to arrange a play-date for our inner children.
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