You crept up behind me from out of the shadows,
Knocked me off kilter
And set me adrift.

The years haven’t always been kind
But somehow I survived.

Now as middle age draws near
My skin thickens and wrinkles
But underneath I’m still soft and squishy,
Tender and easily bruised.

As autumn fades into winter,
The last leaves cling resolutely to the trees
And the sun sinks lower in the sky,
Who will catch me when I fall?

Copyright Helen Pengelly 2015