fine lines surround blissful brown
some are not so fine.
Where babies once roamed
grownups appear,
and the young guy I married
is delightfully gray.
Cleverly disguised as chocolate brown
are a few gray of my own.
Somewhere in time
wisdom displaced foolishness,
caution, abandon and
beauty, ashes.
Yet every now and then
in my reflection, she emerges
young, scared,
oh so broken girl
I once was,
never to be again.
Nor would I wish it,
neither lines nor blissfulness
surround her eyes
but an all encompassing
vacancy
oh that I could hold her
and whisper future dreams
lovingly convince her of a
beautiful life to come
with husband and babies
wisdom and fine lines
chocolate gray hair and
brokenness no more.
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