I'm tired of people finding only sad things about the elderly. I find many of them beautiful in a special way.


Age

Slowly they move
Past mist-curtained windows,
Holding an arm for steadiness, each
Feeling the soft skin of aging hands,
Carefully watching the sidewalk for cracks.
Bright eyes below white hair,
Laughing lips and yes, lines,
Lines where there once were none.
No matter.
They are alive and smiling
In the warm sunlight
And they are holding hands.



Poetry by Becca Allison
Read 543 times
Written on 2008-04-21 at 18:04

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