I'm pretty
As I
Grow old
Gray hairs
Wrinkles form
Weight gain
Job pains
She touches
Me
Faded dreams
As it seems
I'm exhausted
Sadness flows
On it goes
You caught it
I'm her favorite
Thing
Still her
Long lost
Dream.
Still
Years go by
Good mornings
Good byes
Catapillars
To
Butterflies
The smell of her
Makes me high
She loves me
And
I love her
Still
After all
This time
Deborah R. Shaw
