Glisten Under Each New Heaven

I’m still not my age at ‘47’ Inside me hops a child. On one leg, like a raven: Feathers - smoothed aback… Glisten to heaven. But all is crumbling, - now. (If I’m not mistaken) – Anyhow – “No vanity is full-proof, You can’t fake the inside-mirror. No” – “no Whatever”. Ah, so you can still climb a ladder… And dance on the roof… And even split a few hairs… But not those greying’s around Your eyebrows ears or nose ok’. You can dye and highlight. Botox and fill at will…? Pluck – slice and glue – stich back! Pretend - you’re a happy-hippy, Wild, white-haired sage! “But bro' like I’m saying… here… I still don’t feel my goddamn age”. Even now, with ‘47’ years gauge Inside me hops a doting child. On one leg, like a raven: Feathers - smoothed aback… “Glisten under each new heaven”.