With Time She Wanes Poem by Wangchat konyak

Slowly and gently, now she ages,
Like Autumn in her golden hue.
Blows the wind and touches her hair,
Like the leaf it softly falls.
She is weary, weak and often sick,
As the wrinkles bloom upon her face.
Her eyes is faint to behold the mile,
Like a road conceal in morning mist.
Here and there, now and then,
Like the ocean, she is deep and calm.
And here, I am —
Like the frost upon the winter night —
Cold and helpless,
Reluctant to see her wane with time.