Yet here I smile at the golden ball,
I wear long red shorts,
Sit in the full sun, for a while,
And never worry about my grey, sea-tangled hair.
Skin is older now.
It has take fifty years to get used to changing
But now, here, it works,
I suddenly notice I am brown.
Change doesn’t stop
I wonder what I’ll be when I am grown.
All grown up into the earth again,