Growing Old

The mirror shows a stranger now, a face etched deep with time, Where laughter lines, like canyons, course, a map of life's long climb. The hair, once dark as raven's wing, is frosted with the snow, A testament to battles fought, the seeds of wisdom sow.

His hands, once strong and sure of grip, now wear the marks of toil, A network of knotted veins, where life's rich tapestry uncoils. The stride that ate the miles away, has slowed to gentler pace, But in his eyes, a fire burns, a wisdom time can't erase.

He walks with memories for friends, some whispered, some in bloom, The echoes of a life well-lived, escaping from the tomb. He hears the laughter of his youth, the shouts of youthful games, And feels the tender touch of love, though none may speak her name.

The world may see a fading form, a body tinged with rust, But in his heart, a spirit gleams, with dreams he still can trust. For age is just a passing phase, a chapter in the tale, The heart that beats within his chest, will weather any gale.

So let the years leave silver streaks, and bend his once proud frame, The man he is, the man he's been, burns bright with inner flame. For age is not a time to fear, but wisdom dearly bought, A chance to watch the world unfold, a battle bravely fought.