Sometimes, I write poems.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
White at the sides, above the ears
I noticed them today. Whispy hair
Like snow fresh fallen appears
To have rested, unmelting there.
Should I fight it or become forlorn
Will neither matter, bye and bye.
I shall not fret nor have it shorn;
Shall calmly age, and never dye.
© Ciprianowords Inc. 2008
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