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 long passed 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
Or clasped 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.