She’s fifty,
And the ground has started to shift, she
Is feeling cast adrift,
As her children sail for new beginnings
On old shores.

The doors close
And all the questions her life’s posed
Begin to gather like shadows
Seeking answers she isn’t sure she’s found…
And time ticks cruelly on.

The worst part
Is splitting a hard head from a soft heart,
For living a real life is a fine art;
The money trap’s sprung
And it’s liberally baited.

Yet the lure
Of the lyre and the lyric lingers,
And the devil makes work for indolent fingers…
She’s searching for the thing worth doing well and
If she finds it, there’s one last chance.

Sally Dellow