The certainty of life’s completion is as clear as crystal
The hubris of youth recedes with each crease and line reflected in the mirror
The days of childrearing are nearing their end
Many are content to sit on their haunches to observe and advise
I refuse to wear the comfortable shawl - to rest in numb comfort
I rise - I stretch - I pick up my pack and venture forth
I will die gripping and squeezing the last drop of sunlight from my final day
Death needs that scythe to cut me down
I do not consent - I do not yield
I am the shadow in the storm catching the lightning