[Citations in Italics: Plays of T. S. Eliot. Boston: Faber, 1969]

I grow old … I grow old …

It seemed so important

to grow up, to be a lady;

make my own rules.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think they will sing to me.

Adulthood would bring the real magic.

It did not.

Yes, there were moments,

the joy of freedom.

Except we do not stay there,

we continue to age.

Body parts lower, or ache,

or decay or get fatter.

I grow old … I grow old …