Though words of wisdom sometimes leave me cold,
Reluctant now and then to face the fact,
I’m holding on and time is growing old,
It tiptoed softly when I turned my back,
Another day, a week, a month, a year,
Will take me ever nearer to the end,
Then new beginnings tempered with a fear,
Of failure, inability to mend,
And sometimes scared of what may come to pass,
Yet ever knowing what will be, will be,
I see an image in the looking glass,
And wonder, is this woman really me?
Reluctant now and then to take control,
And fearful I may never reach my goal.