GROWING UP OLD

GROWING UP OLD

Each birthday made me taller,
Not older as they said,
The candles pushed my feet below,
While clouds brushed round my head.

At sixty I passed rooftops,
At seventy the trees,
My neighbours waved from far beneath,
And shouted, “Mind your knees!”

My wrinkles turned to ladders,
That climbed around my face,
My silver hair caught aeroplanes,
And pulled them out of place.

My knees complained of growing,
My shoes refused my feet,
I wore two boats as slippers,
To walk along the street.

I peeped inside the chimneys,
And saw what people ate,
The vicar burnt his porridge,
The mayor licked his plate.

At eighty I met moonlight,
Who lent her longest chair,
I sat among the satellites,
And combed the evening’s hair.

The moon asked, “What age are you?”
I said, “I’ve had enough,”
She laughed until a little star,
Fell in her powder puff.

I found the child I used to be,
Still hiding in the blue,
She wore my old red dancing shoes,
And said, “I waited for you.”

We danced above the sleeping town,
While clocks forgot to chime,
The child I was, the age I am,
Held hands outside of time.

So never say I’m fading,
Or nearly at my end,
I’m simply growing up old,
Where stars become my friends.