THE VANISHING YEARS.
2003. I’m sitting here growling in this cursed wheelchair,
A little old lady with snow in her hair,
But who’s this auld woman, I’m dammed if it’s me,
For inside my head I’m still thirty three.
I’m a young wife and mother, for the stars I can reach,
I run with my children, barefoot on the beach
I cook and I bake and I sew and I clean .
My body’s still young and firm and lean.
The years gallop on, too fast! please slow down,
At the thought of being old, I’m starting to frown,
Can I push back the clock? Time is running away!
There’s no holding it back, I get older each day.
I ´m dependant on others to push me about,
It feels so unreal; I just want to scream out.
I can run if I want to, my head tells me so,
When I try to stand up my legs just won’t go.
Down here i’m invisible. How is she today?
Talk to me! Not to her, I´m desperate to say.
Can´t you see me? Dont ignore me, I want to shout out,
Leave me my dignity, thatś what life’s all about.
Look at me now and at yourself too,
Whatś happened to me, could happen to you
The years they have vanished just like the stars in the night
When the dawn turns the sky from darkness to light.
2005. My Wheelchair has gone; I’ve got new metal hips,
All praise for the surgeon springs forth from my lips,
The snow in my hair has been banished from sight
Now it is brown with a dash of highlight.
I´ve bought a new car, a wee Mini Cooper
Itś a pity I´m no a stunning good looker,
I’m five foot two now and no’ three foot three,
People don’t walk past, they now talk to me.
So if you chance to walk down the street,
And a wee man or woman you happen to meet,
Who’s trapped in a wheelchair with legs that won’t go,
Remember to give them a smiling hallo.
Wilma Bolton. © 2005