About a woman in her late 30s who has fear of ageing after being termed as beautiful till now. 

I recall the days 
The days of youth. 
The days of beauty
When lines were the ones referred in school
and wrinkles were alien. There were no tools.

The mirror then was my friend
The mirror then was a trend.
The years were about fashion
The years were about tashan 
Who had the best bag
Who lacked the expensive bag

I wish I hadn't taken for granted
The love The laughter the boys who flocked around me
The wannabee The flatterer the boring geek to a T 

I had garments in all colours. 
All that were a blend
I could look good in a haystack
Never wanted to wear sombre black

The mirror was however a colourless but enthusiastic mend
I had to fill in and create the rest in all end.

I was young.
 I was beautifully sung.
The follies of youth had just begun

I am 38. Not old yet not bold
I wish I was 18 
it has to be told.
My mirror lets just say isn't so mould
The lines. The spots that re fold
This cant be me. 
Surely this cant be.

I am ageing . I am deciphering 
I look like I cant be faking 
Is it time to face the taking.

That was the age of virility.
That was the age I defied

Now when I look back 
I realise I was on track
I took for granted
I realise I did.

I wish I had a time machine
I would stall it .
 I would halt it .
I would set it to a unbelievably tighter bolt . 

I don't want to get old
I don't wish to leave the life and enter the old.

This cant be me. 
The eyes are seeking me
This is a imposter. 
This is a another ostler. 
This cant be me. 
The eyes are seeking me

Have I gotten lost. 
Have I walked the most. 
Has life passed me by. 
Where do I seek the lost gone by?