Time’s gentle hands weave silver threads,
A whisper through the years.
Each line etched a story,
A symphony of laughter and tears.
The mornings may come a little slower,
The sunsets feel richer, more profound.
A lifetime blooms in tender moments—
The quiet sights, the everyday sounds.
Eyes that catch the dance of shadows,
Hands that cradle the weight of a friend.
Wisdom blooms like autumn’s ember—
Not to fight time but to transcend.
The mirror reflects a journey,
Not a loss but a prize in view.
Every wrinkle a map, every sigh a treasure,
Each day a new beginning to pursue.
So walk with the sunset, soft and clear,
Let age be the quietest dance.
Aging is not fading, it’s learning to hold
The beauty of life in every glance.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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