by Poetry99
© 2001 Dorothy E. Scott, all rights reserved
My worn body may be stiff in its age.
Though my mind is still ongoing, a new page.A weary heart may wear an occasional bruise.
My forgetful mind stops to often peruse.I try to tilt the world with a daily rhyme.
I'm not getting old yet, just feeling my time.My bones bother me, very human you see.
Poetry is my future, my poetical destiny.Fate's glass still holds water, not about to drown.
Sometimes a smile wards off the intended frown.A weary body is stiff, a bruise to my ego, mind on a tilt, sometimes a bother, yet my glass isn't empty.