How old are you?
How old are we,
Who knows,
As old as time
Itself,
As young as
Tomorrow
Or the start of
A snap of the finger,
No really,
How old are you?
I gave him a number
And he left seemingly
Satisfied,
Sometimes we need a
Label for our illusions,
So we can put them in
A little brown paper bag
And keep on collecting.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
From “Dockside” www.StrangersAndPoetry.com
5:59 AM October 31, 2014