Thirty

A Lady Who Thinks She Is Thirty
- Ogden Nash

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?

Lovely poem, isn't it? No prizes for guessing why I put that up here, today.

My friend sent it to me around the time she turned thirty, and I saved it carefully, to help lift my spirits (or so I thought) when I turned thirty. But today, I find that I don't need it at all. My spirits are quite high. The Thirty number is actually exciting, not scary. Is wisdom finally making an appearance with age? Have I at last realized that age is just a number? :)