I look to a mirror
And see I am old,
Balding, skin dry,
My beard greyed.
The skin of my hands
Has thinned like plys
Of ice on water, early
Winter mornings.
I first read this poem
My class read today
Forty years ago, when,
Like them, I still believed.
I am old; there is no
Resolution to this poem.
(February 27, 2018)
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