In the twilight of my life
the necromancer comes calling
teasing and enticing me
to fix all that is falling
I chuckle as he dances
a jester with empty soul
unable to lure me
with his unfulfillable goal
Unbeknownst to him I’m content
my lines, not scars, but made from love
I do not need a younger face
mine was a gift from high above
Yes, my bones are more brittle
and my hair has now turned white
and perhaps my ageing body aches
keeping me awake at night
But in the midnight hours
before the coming of the sun
I can recall all that’s good
and all the joyful things I’ve done
So, dance elsewhere magician
for you’ll not lure me today
I love my weathered body
It’s mine and is here to stay.
© Leslie C Dobson
If you liked this poem, you can find additional ones on the poetry page of Leslie’s website.