Gnarled By Age Knurls The Grip Poem by John Richard Anderson

Babies and young sapplings are silky smooth,
adorned by curls and twirls, unfurled.
But age assails and weather beats brows
to dry, and wrinkles the smooth with furrows and lines.
Twists and contortions compels yields and compliances
reshaping the surface to bumpy with knots and gnarls,
knurling a rough grip to deny the slip
that smooth young skin and wills
are prone to show when asked to follow a lead.
The rough and worn acrimony of old age,
despite the crabby, cantankerous snarls,
can be gripped and convinced to comply and yield.
It is the gnarls of age that knurls the grip.