My waistline’s the same
And I think it’s a shame
That this measurement changed not a bit.
I suppose it is true
That whatever I do,
Does no good to be throwing a fit!
I see in the glass,
Not a much younger lass,
But a senior whose face has grown thin.
Ignoring the scale
I’ll not weep, I’ll not wail
For true beauty must come from within!

Thoughts in Rhyme


I stepped on the scale,
And my face went quite pale
As the numbers continued to climb.
Why that can’t be right
It must be my poor sight
Or the scale is way past its prime!
To the kitchen I fled
To throw out the bread
(Bread was part of my daily routine.)
I’d give up the sweets
And my favorite treats
And I’d start a reducing regime.
To the “oldies” I sweat…
(And it was a sure bet)
In a few weeks my weight did go down.
Tho now I weighed less
I continued to stress
And my face wrinkled into a frown.
My hour-glass shape
Now looked more like a grape
Just left withering there on the vine
And my legs that were thin
Are now bone and skin
What’s become of this body of mine?

​Then I started to dread
Those pounds that I shed…
They came off where they needed to STAY!
My neck once quite comely
Now looked rather homely
I suppose that it’s always that way!