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 

Of silver


Their light shines through 

From within

And that

Is true beauty.


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