I never thought there’d be a day,
When I’d say, “I’ll take my shower another day!”
It used to be, between you and me, that was only true of the elderly.

When am I old?
What is my elder worth in gold?
Who will care if I wash my hair?
Who will notice what I even wear?

When does pretty fly away ~ along with every single hay day?
Who earns the privilege of silver hair ~ safe and secure not even a care?

Who will stop and visit, bring some chicken soup?
Who will be around, when I’m down and duped?
No one wants to be alone ~ carry a loan on her own home.

Divine Mother Nature opens her arms,
Her trees bring breath healing and charms,
It seems as the elder body weakens and wanes ~ the spark of ‘Chi’ still flows not strains,
Meridian pathways no matter how old ~ pour energy like liquid gold.

Naturally we question the end, try to run the opposite way,
a sacredy-cat crisscrossing attempts to extend the stay,
Bargaining with that end date ~ convincing self it’s not too late,
Hoping there’s strength to hit the bell, at least give it one last swing ~
What the hell!

Grab a soda, cotton candy, throw a dime on a plate, and tell ourselves it’s not too late
to win a Kewpie
ride a tilt-a-whirl
shake the fear
give it one last cheer!

To lean and eye the tattooed guy,
the one holding the make-it-faster stick
Try to convince him to do his tilt-a-whirl trick,
and like a top, no one wants it to stop . . . just make the ride a laster!

Make it a ride, a Midway ride, to glide right on over to the other side . . .