I’m no longer young,
And not too pretty;
Not much fun
Or terribly witty.
I would smile more,
But my smile is crooked,
And my heart is torn.
Often overlooked,
Better to be with those who mourn.
Don’t much appeal
To a post-truth world.
But I try to be real.
A banner unfurled,
Blowing in the Spirit-wind,
But not the spirit of the age.