sorry about that

some of us age well,
retaining that youthful
spirit,
the spring in our step,
the joy of being
alive still with us.
while others it's a struggle
just to get
out of bed in the morning.
the mirror is no
longer our friend,
but a set of eyes judging
us,
the weight gained,
the sagging of bones,
the lines
on our faces,
the thinning hair,
the veins that run along
the pathways
of our crepe skin.
we see our parents staring
back at us.
it's not for the weak of heart
this getting old thing.
it's upon us before
we know it.
beauty is fleeting,
sorry about that.