As years advance, I’ve reached the certain age
When women must attack or take in stride
The great, tumultuous, high hormonal rage
And changes taking place in their inside.
The night sweats and the mood swings oft annoy.
The bloating, puffy weight gain is a curse.
But no more monthlies is a certain joy,
And headaches—meh—you know we’ve all had worse.
Yet oh, the problems with the gums, and gut,
And dry and itchy skin are such a pain.
I groan, and muscle on, and wonder what
The moral is or what I am to gain.
Then, lo, my angst is gone without a trace
As breezes waft right o’er my hot-flashed face.
Thank you, Jeneva Joyce, for the topic prompt and for contributing the following related limericks.
As a woman of a certain age,
I’m a mixture of silly and sage.
I can charm with a dance,
Or freeze time with a glance.
I’ve the keys to defy every cage.
The power surge starts deep within
And reddens my neck and my chin.
Then I glisten and glow
And throw wide the window!
Do not argue! I’m grouchy! I win!
Ev’ry gray hair I have was well earned.
Ev’ry lesson I share was hard learned.
I’m authentically me
With no apology,
And more joyful with ev’ry year turned.