When just a kid, a child of eight,
an older sister, best friend I'd make.
I hoped to grow, and be the same,
to have her hair and bear her fame.
If by chance, she bore new shoes,
I'd beg in hopes, to have them too.
It seems she always, had the best,
and I was there to glean what's left.
Then in teens, not much had change,
except that she, got more new things.
I heard my dad say, she's the best,
while I wonder why, I'm such a mess.
Then in the years, when children came,
I still wanted to do, and be the same.
Dreams of hers, just seem to happen,
I tried my best, to make mine like them.
Advanced in age, not much has changed,
she lives her hopes, and steals my dreams.
She walks in worlds, I'd hoped to see,
while I stand in place, to watch her glee.
Of late I'm thinking, Lord what's the use,
to be like her, is a strangled noose.
The friend I need, is one who's favor,
is fair and just, prone none to waver.
That friend of youth can be no more,
time for less of me, and no keeping score.
So when in my mirror, I should look to see,
much more of Jesus, and much less of me!
Written By: Barbara A. Carlan 12/6/2009