Post-Modern

Old age showed up one day

Smiling,

the curves of her lips held softer edges,

Her hands were delicately lined,

An ancient wire system,

Still alive,

The woven fabric of steel grey

Clings to her back,

 bent over she moves through the daylight,

Slow,

On the run from the young,

The circus life,

And wasted time.

 

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