764. When silver crowns the temples of the wise,

SONNET 764
By JH Sayyar
When silver crowns the temples of the wise,
And time has carved its stories on the face,
The youthful flame may dim behind the eyes,
Yet deeper grows the soul in truth and grace.
No longer swift, the steps are calm, profound,
Each moment weighed in memory’s gentle hand,
Where echoes of lost laughter still resound,
And love once sown now blooms across the land.
Though mirrors speak of years that swiftly passed,
And hands once strong grow frail with quiet care,
The heart holds fast to dreams that ever last,
And wisdom lights the dark with steady stare.

Old age, though clothed in shadows and in sighs
Bears golden dawns behind its twilight skies