We Grow Old Poem by Lazarus Knix
We Grow Old
Cool, white breeze
Fans her burnt, bright hair
With the breath of Autumn
A minute turn in the body,
A stiff bend of the back,
Feeling this, she sighs damply.
Her thick, swinging strands
Are bright at the tip
And gray at the root.
We grow old-
From the inside out.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: autumn,hair
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8/4/2026 8:16:36 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
