Sometimes I feel, or I suppose,
A little girl in grown-up clothes.
Not yet senescent, but of age,
I’ve stayed my soul at fresher stage.
If tailored, tasteful togs I wear,
I almost feel put-on for flair.
I’m happier in sneaks and jeans,
Such as I sported in my teens.
My kids may groan. Their cohorts jeer,
But I refuse to overhear.
I’ll never be the worse for wear,
If I can dress without a care.
c2018 by Linda Ann Nickerson
Adapted from public domain image
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