Every time I
Look into the mirror
I gasp! An old woman there I see.
Zadgoots! I say in exhasperation
As I gaze upon white hair, for
Brown it used to be. A crown of glory,
Each one would say.
That's a beautiful mass of
Hair,
Paulann.
As it bounced and glistened in the sun,
Umber, brown, and red, sending
Lights of yellow gold, shimmering on my head.
And now and then a streak of silver as I started to grow old
Never once did I stop to think that it would be pure white.
Now I look upon my countenence and wonder at the sight.
Deep wrinkles mark where smiles have been
Revealing happy years
Understanding of my life is there, mixed mid joy and tears.
Reaching out I fair embrace the things I held so dear.
You never know the things you've got until they slip away.
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