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HER Blog

K. Mae


    Within the warmth of yellow, her tales unwind and weave,
    A series spun on couch of gold, her heart upon her sleeve.

    Volume one, year twenty-three, December's frosty hold,
    She speaks of age and aging, stories bravely told.

    "A night of sleepless wrestle, a battle with my bed,
    Too hot, too cold, never right, thoughts whirling in my head.

    Visits to the bathroom, the curse of late-night tea,
    Netflix and chill, not such a thrill, when sleep refuses to be.

    So, to the couch, with coffee clutched, I watch the world go by,
    Wrapped in the comfort of my home, beneath the morning sky."

    Her tales of aging, truthfully told, in humor, laughter and strife,
    She's forty-four, perhaps more, playing the game of life.

    She speaks of living authentically, no pretense, no deceit,
    Embracing the softness within herself, each challenge she'll meet.

    Her patience thin, her mood has flown, but her humor always near,
    A weapon against the trials of life, a shield against her fear.

    The radiant words she leaves behind, a trail for us to follow,
    In the hope that we might also find, a life that's rich and hallow.

    She speaks of change, of growth, of age, with wisdom, grace and cheer,
    "Here's to another year of life, here's to forty-four, my dear!"

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