When will the day come-
not too far away-
to let my hair reclaim it’s true shade?
To welcome the freedom of silvery strands,
The time to let go of unnecessary worries
and embrace this precious, fleeting moment?
Wisdom hard won,
love hard fought.
In youth we fear age, run from it,
kicking and screaming at each sign of encroaching ‘imperfection’…
But it’s not imperfection at all;
instead, a burnishing, a metal made stronger and more resilient having survived the fire.
I will celebrate my age, my wrinkles and my gray as they come, holding my head high.
Age brings with it power, wisdom, and a certain magic;
A destroying of what we always thought we should be to find the treasure of our real selves,