By JH Sayyar
Silver threads that crown the furrowed brow,
laurels won through battles long and deep
Each wrinkle holds a tale, and even now,
The soul within its quiet watch does keep.
Though limbs grow and eyes lose youthful fire,
The heart remembers still the songs of spring
Of passion, pain, of love and lost desire,
Of all the joys that time no more can bring.
Yet in the hush where loud dreams did roar,
A gentler wisdom rises like the dawn;
Content to walk along the shadowed shore,
And smile at all the fleeting things now gone.
O age! Though youth may light the flame,
The age that learns to cherish what remains
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