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The Beauty of Wisdom
April 8, 2018
All of these lines that cross my face will speak
Creases so defined will tell of my past
Oh so bleak is the color in my cheek
I do not know of one thing that will last
Will there come a day when my soul shall rest?
How harsh the burdens this body carries
Nagging at me is an unwelcomed pest
Will I go? The answer always varies
Hiking this trail, each step feels much steeper
With time my spirit has begun to rot
Grey hairs stem from roots that go far deeper
Suddenly, I know what’s petty and not
Content I’ll sit and at peace all aglow
Life with perspective of what I now know
© Anonymous
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