Twenty five thousand and one hundred and eighty five days of living.

Imagine!
I’ve lived 25,185 days and some,
I’m growing old
And
Growing bold
Better that
Than growing cold.
I dyed my hair
The colour pink
And don’t really care
What people think
For now at last I’m free to do
The things I always wanted to
But fear and sense
Stood in my way
Without a word they had a say!
And so now, each day is a better day
Though still I’m careful what I say
In case I chase
My friends away
I make them welcome as they come and go
And still I scatter seeds in snow
And wait for flowers
I may never see grow.
But, my hair, I think
I like it pink
As strangers in shops
Stare and blink
They complement the way I think
They seem to know what
I’m trying to say
“I’m living my life to the very last day, my way”.