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Singing Wind Rose

Silver Among The Gold

Here's a poem I wrote thinking about grandkids and how younger folk seem to look at us that are aging or are older.


Although my hair is nearly gray,

I know it's fine to look this way.

For I have heard from Elders old,

as stories that are mine,

that gray hairs come over course of time.

All of us over time,

share this thing

and call it mine.

In this way, the story's told,

of frosty hair among the gold.

So don't fret at growing old,

dressing warm and feeling cold,

the change of your hair,

the wrinkles of skin,

Or wisdom you give-

again and again.

So we know from times of old,

the life we live and what we've showed;

the things we give and stories we've told,

with a frosty head our looks behold,

Hairs of Silver among the Gold...