Not Never

I see grey in my hair,

And my sister tells me

I am supposed

To see silver instead;

The image in my head shifts

From a dark night

With grey clouds

That do not promise to rain,

To a night sky making way

For eternal starlight-

We bloom, in our own time.


“The secret of a good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude.”
Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

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