I greet you now with silver in your hair,
A winter face etched by the frosts of time
And yet you speak a warmth I’ve longed to hear
That has not altered with your passing prime;
Your hands now crooked, dapple stained with age,
Soft hands that once held firm the sands of life – –
Hands that formed fists of triumph or of rage
Or pressed in prayer to calm that inner strife;
Your movements deft, now slowed as in a dream
Yet eyes still bright with wit and willing fire,
A gentle smile that frames 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.