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.