This is not me,

I am the lithe girl in braids,

I can run like a deer,

And leap onto the back of a sixteen-hand horse.

This cannot possibly be me,

I am strong as an ox,

Can swim across “Halls Pond”,

And can do the work of a man.

This cannot be me,

But, alas here I sit,

Over fifty with aches and pains,

And a not-so-lithe hitch in my step.

Indeed here I sit,

In a doctor’s office with tests to be done,

Numbers on a chart, and tears on my cheeks,

Tell of the grown up who is now me.

Me, reduced to numbers.

James Taylor sings, “Shower the People”,

Over the music system overhead.