My list of friends are growing short,
my table mates are disappearing.
Fans I had none then and now the only fan I know is stuck to the ceiling.
I wonder what they saw when they flocked around me and what they missed when they flew away.
I haven't changed but for a few gray hairs on my head, laugh lines as I call them when they adorn my face on other's they are wrinkles.
The intelligence of a five year old the mind of a teen, I've grown in weight and strength otherwise I remain almost the same.
I've tried to change with the changing times but a feeble voice within me whispers though shall not.
Within me I am a happy soul when the world desired great things mine was for an ice cream from the corner store.