So I have one talented husband! He writes poetry, he's an artist, he plays the guitar and sings me songs and writes songs for me! Goodness, he makes me melt. Well, I wanted to share with you one of my favorite poems of his. It's called "When I Get Old." For mothers day, Dave drew a picture of Mother Teresa (it's amazing huh!?) for his mom because Mother Teresa is one of her role models and then he put this poem on the back of the drawing. A M A Z I N G. I love this poem because it gives me such a new perspective. Enjoy! :) xoxo natalie
When I get old I wanna have wrinkles,
I wanna have so many wrinkles that it
always kinda looks like I’m asleep
Especially on my four head, and lining
the corner points of my lips,
To prove to this world that I have a strong
smile and a crippled frown.
Because on the days that were sad, my
smile took that as a challenge, and lifted and pulled, and pushed until it
literally turned my frown upside down.
I wanna have cracked fingernails, and
permanent little bits of dirt inside my skin, to prove that I know how to work.
I want hands that shake a little,
because they made a record of all the times I faced my fears, and was scared to
death, but couldn't show it, so now that I have wrinkles they decide to make up
for lost time.
I want my hair to be white, like whiter
than the whitest snow…. White. Like if you saw me you would think I have been
through every kind of stressful situation that a human could go though, kind of
white
I want sore knees from the thousands of
miles and decades that I had spent walking up and down the same old stairs
I want a bowed back from all that times
I was crushed to the edge of my bed, because I didn't have the answers, I
needed to talk to man who did.
I want tear ducts that are too tired to
hold back the current anymore,
Anytime I hear my grandkid sing, or see
a movie that reminds me too well of friends long past, or when I hear truths
spoken sunshine reverberate my old wrinkly body
Although ill probably still be
embarrassed by those tears.
Now I know what your thinking… why
would a young person talk about being old?
Well maybe its because old people spend
far to much time talking about being young
But lastly I want clear eyes, ones like
the sky after a rainstorm
I want eye’s that prove that I lived,
but that also are more pure when I leave, then when I got here.
All I know is… this is my time to be
twenty three, but when my time to be eighty one comes along I will welcome it
with arms wide, spirit strong and body trembling
By David Swenson
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