Old Age

old age as imagined
must be as graceful as the
gray hair glistening to the
sunset dissolving on the
blackness of the horizon
slowly, gently, carefully
gliding, fading
and with the slightest
closing of the
silent sigh, like a
glimmer
a single ripple
turning into a silk
bandanna.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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