Angel hands with long and nimble fingers
Smoothed with age, paths of wisdom along pale skin
They comfort and soothe
Comfort the lonely and soothe the pain
Strands of spider-webbed silver hair
With peeking brown-proof of the past
“I am not ashamed”
“I’ve earned it”
All the pain and struggle and lessons and memories
Were worth it to reach this place
Of simplicity and peace
Each wrinkle tells a story
Each crease, a trophy
To be worn with pride
To be taken in stride
To be looked upon in wonderment
Who says that age is not beautiful?
For is the blossoming of the world not
A breathtaking sunrise to witness?
Who says they are feeble?
When they alone have triumphed through
Obstacles we cannot imagine
Who says they are not wise?
When our lessons learned can be counted
On one hand
“Gray” or “Gorgeous”
When gray is just a humble shade
Their light shines through
Is true beauty.