They can’t know that

Once I passed an old woman climbing the stairs one step at a time
In my heart I felt I despised her;I was shocked
A spontaneous emotion I despised in myself
Now I have become her
Can I complain if people look down on me
Ask if I need help when I am going down the stairs in a shop with no lift
Can they carry me down?
Sometimes people stop me in the High Street
Tell me I look dreadful
What can I say?
Do we still feel as we did towards lepers?
I can’t grumble and if I did, I remember I was one of despisers
Though I pushed away the thoughts
I suppose it’s like  when we say all black people look the same
Or maybe all white people look the same
I take pleasure in the young with their shining hair and vitality
Then I remember it’s not far to  being old, but they can’t know that