Heat of the day melts me like wax,
Panic rips me, in horrid attacks;
Lightning singes, what once stood tall,
The ground gives way, and again I fall.
No one sees a person when they look at me,
They see an object of frailty;
I don't want to see what's inside the mirrors,
I'm beginning to think I've outlived my years.
If I could only be that once stolid man,
That creature of strength, who never needed a hand;
But I'm quivering and cold,
I'm fragile, I'm deteriorating, and I'm very, very old.
