When I Get Old...

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