Many a time, have I looked in a mirror,

And stared at the young face staring back at me.

"'Tis strange," I think, "How my heart feels aged,

"But my face still shows a child."


I look in the mirror to try to understand,

Understand myself, or more or less,

Who I was,

Who I am, 

And who I want to be.


Who was I?

Not to long ago, it seems,

A child, still gathering her means,

And even more present,

Someone I'd sooner resent,

But an innocence lost tends to take

More of a story than one could make.


Who am I now?

No longer a little child, too far grown,

But not yet an adult, too little known.

I see these things because my heart still plays,

It plays in its own, child-like ways,

But my mind has made it too old, 

To show the love it feels, 'tis not enough bold.


Who do I want to be?

Not a woman that is tall and fair,

Though some say that these characteristics and I are (ha!) a pair,

But someone who heals the sick and needy,

Someone whose heart shall never be greedy,

I pray to one day become old and wise,

And tell tales of a glory, not of a demise.


Ah, time,

You are, to me, a dear old friend,

Whose life will come, though long past mine, to an end.

With you, experience shall come, and time shall pass

Into glorious days in mass,

And the sun shall shine within these many days,

Despite the clouds that cover its rays.

This poem is about: 


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