This was a poem that I stumbled across sometime ago. I don’t remember when and the poet’s name was also anonymous. But I loved reading it again and again and again…
How old am I? I’ll be 92 next Christmas
Though I won’t admit to one day over 20…
Even after all the birthday cards are cut and shuffled
It’s hard to figure
I’ve aged at least 500 years since I stumbled into you;
Yet I still believe in faerie tales
Like the Princess and the Frog
And I still believe you wanted me
Perhaps I am only three or so?
You’ll never know how old I am
But I’ll tell you anyway
I was born the hour I met you… and died today.
Update: A has been gracious enough to inform me that this is a poem by Linda Goodman and it’s from her collection “Venus Trines at Midnight”.