Over fifty

I’m constantly surprised to realise,
That I am over fifty,
I don’t feel that I am that age,
But imagine I’m still in my late twenties.
I find myself doing the maths,
To work out the passing years,
From my date of birth,
And when I look in to the mirror,
I see a stranger,
A body that I don’t recognise,
And my heart sinks.
It seems such a cruel fate,
And a wicked trick,
To be imprisoned in a body that doesn’t fit,
Am I me, or am I the person I see in the mirror?