Peace shines bright at dawn.
No surprise. It’s in her eyes.
Grace still blooms with age.
Tired, but aren’t we all?
Weathered storms some big, some small.
Old barns still stand tall.
Shall we rise and shine?
This day’s young, my little one.
Each day is a gift.
Beauty comes with age.
Wise, yet sweet. They still love treats.
Old dogs make me smile.
Seniors girls are wise.
In the sun, with their closed eyes.
Naps can keep us young.
So what if I’m old.
I shall quack in white and black.
Even when it rains.
This morning an excited young boy showed me his hand filled with wet and wiggly worms he’d just unearthed.
Tonight a tired old woman showed her camera a rake, filled with blue blossoms growing wild in a damp patch of weeds.
Suddenly the old woman felt even younger than the boy.