they come,
noisy and jostling,
to the first class.

their breath's
misting in,
the cold crisp air.
as they enter
and disrobe,
unwinding scarves,
removing jackets
and shoes.

to stand,
lithe, limber
and youthful before me.
ready to perform.

and i feel....
                  so...
                       ...old and tired.

as i watch them,
twist and turn,
their young bodies,
into shapes,
that are but,
a hazy memory,
for me....

and i will admit....
i am both,
downright jealous
and a little bit sad....
as the class continues.