Prompt: [I deviated on this one, retaining only the charge to write a “story about the body.”]
What is it, then, to be
“an old soul,” as they say?
Does it require the skins of mirth
to droop into decay?
Are the muscles of unfettered ego
doomed to atrophy?
Is the mane of whimsy and naivety
grayed and shed, strand by strand?
Or is the triumph of aged wisdom
seen in youthful eyes?
Are seasoned hope and prudence
found in the tempered tongue?
Perhaps the hand of circumspection
holds fast to the hand of joy.