I worry for things big and tiny,
She sits by my side calmly,
Reading a small book.
I look at her closely,
I see her still not old,
But disguised to be so.
Her birthdate disagrees,
For the pale eyes mirror,
Her bright young soul.
Her mind forgets things,
Repeats sentences again,
I smilingly listen to her.
We go for short walks,
When behind me to catch up,
I stop, she waves me to go.
Her inside yet so sturdy,
Nothing has changed,
When I falter, still she scolds.
Ninety-year-old hand I hold,
Kiss her thin cheek,
Mom then hugs me close.
With teary eyes, I realise,
When my creator is with me,
What have I to fear!
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