When I look at my body, what do I see?
How can this ageing flesh really be me?
I’m still a small child free of worry and care -
running through fields with the sun in my hair.
I skip and I jump as if floating on air -
my wrinkling self is a long way from there!
When I look at my body, what do I see?
I see someone much older that’s surely not me.

When you judge me how do you rule?
Do you think me a clown, a joker, a fool?
Or am I held in higher esteem -
A Woman of Substance, the girl of your dreams?
When I open my mouth do you know what I’ll say?
Can you predict me without shades of grey?
Am I so clear-cut, so devoid of free will
That all of my efforts cannot break beyond nil?
Do I kid myself that I’m one of a kind?
Is there no uniqueness in me to find?