January 16, 2013
It falls like a flurry in the autumn night
Upon the naked brown trees
A sparkle here and there
Decorating the dark landscape
Its color white, not gray
Wizened ancestors honored at its arrival
It will not be plucked
Or wished away
Regretted
Or flown to a warmer clime
Shrouded in a darker hue
Or fretted about in shame
As winter approaches
The layer grows thick
White mantle of age
Flowing around the mind
Its beauty forgotten
By some, but not all
I will not send them away
These wisps of white
In the autumn of life
I will not waste a second
Changing them back
And I do not judge
Those who choose to change back
That is their choice, and it’s fine
But not mine
I have earned every single one
And wear them proudly
As a silver crown of honor
As an elder of my tribe
And one who gratefully accepts
That the gift of long life
Far surpasses the alternative
Inner Voice 