Old Poem by Lindsay Marie Cheslock
Old
We grow up and try to be different.
We try to give a meaning to our name.
We live to only find out in time were all the same in the end.
With our gray hair that counts for every wrinkle,
we will slowly fade,
dependent stillness of happiness for all the steps we have made.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: hair,happiness
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8/28/2026 12:59:02 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
