She was brooding over the happenings.
She was recollecting the trappings.
Her memory took her long back.
Reminding her of the days in a track.
Once she was a golden girl.
She moved along with lovely frills.
She hummed in musical shrill.
Everyone danced to her drills.
She grew up to become a lovely lady fair
She commanded respect in all the flair.
Gliding through the tracks in a rare,
she evoked a shining glare.
The curtains are falling down.
Her demeanour has become a frown.
Her appearance has lost its glamour.
She withdraws herself into her chamber.
She has to come out of her past.
Eventually accept the present.
Go about with the tide in glory.
That is how we have to end the story.
Meenas Poems 
One reply on “Brooding Over.”
Learning to accept today can be difficult for some…those movie stars that have had so much cosmetic surgery to look young come to mind.