I greet you now with silver in your hair,
A winter face etched deep by gelid Time,
And yet you speak the warmth I’ve longed to hear,
That has not altered with your faded prime;
Your hands now crooked, dapple stained with age;
Soft hands that once held firm the sands of life—
Formed fists of gallant triumph or of rage,
Faith clasped in prayer to calm life’s inner strife;
Your languid movements, slowed as in a dream…
Yet eyes still bright with wit and willing fire;
A gentle smile that shares your greater theme,
Replete with kindness, love and hope’s desire.
You are still you, and age a mere disguise,
A garment worn—your truth lives in your eyes.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.