by Barbara Lutz
And suddenly realize I'm losing the race.
A race that can't be won by mere mortal man,
A race that's been fought since time first began.
Are those my eyes, encircled with lines?
Can those dull, straight grey hairs truly be mine?
Where did that extra chin come from?
It seems an old lady I've slowly become.
But wait! A closer look reveals so much more...
I wonder why I never saw it before!
The lines mean that, to me, laughter is not new.
And the grey in my hair is a beautiful hue!
The face that I see in the mirror today
Is a face that has surely come a long way.
Full of character, wisdom and the strength to be bold.
At peace with itself, not the least bit old!
Perhaps the race really can be won...
The secret lies in the way that it's run.
Stop counting the years, and count, in their stead,
The joys of the past, and the years still ahead.
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