it is but a number. 

A woman gathering wildflowers on the hilltop 

Thinks on her fleeting days of youth 

Awestruck by the sheer evolution of self 

And how quickly the physical structure starts to erode 

Crumbling like ancient ruins 

That have seen better days. 

Knees that creak like old doorframe 

And hips resembling  years of childbearing

She stays spry on her feet 

Though they give her reason to pain. 

There in the reflection

Near the banks of a river running through vast woods 

Standing for what seems like forever 

Smiles back a girl 

With flowing hair and softer skin 

Not yet weathered by life’s storms. 

It is but a number, she thinks aloud

And carries on. 

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