The Menace of the Years: Seventy Sea Shells

I knew a girl of 4 once so
and she grew and grew and grew
so terribly frail and old.

She’d collect sea shells and feel the breeze,
until she started counting the people that’d sweep her off her feet.

And in the mirror’s light —
she’d see how at 17,
she was all of 70.

Alas, all that she chose not to be…

© achillesheelpoetry, 2022