A Lady Who Thinks She Is Thirty
Unwillingly Miranda wakes, Feels the sun with terror, One unwilling step she takes, Shuddering to the mirror. Miranda in Miranda's sight Is old and gray and dirty; Twenty-nine she was last night; This morning she is thirty. Shining like the morning star, Like the twilight shining, Haunted by a calendar, Miranda is a-pining. Silly girl, silver girl, Draw the mirror toward you; Time who makes the years to whirl Adorned as he adored you. Time is timelessness for you; Calendars for the human; What's a year, or thirty, to Loveliness made woman? Oh, Night will not see thirty again, Yet soft her wing, Miranda; Pick up your glass and tell me, then-- How old is Spring, Miranda? -Ogden Nash
4 comments:
The spring is thirty when you are thirty, and the spring will be forty when you are forty. You always live in the spring,Pretty girl!(I am not sure whether I made a right expression or not, but I am for sure you are pretty gril!)
You made the right expression. Thank-you! Its especially touching coming from you - a pretty girl also!
I can't wait to turn 30!!! Ha ha, just kidding. Sort of.
That's how I felt when I first found this poem. I longed to turn thirty. So it was very exciting for me to have the poem apply in that sense.
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