I watch the hairs fall from my head
silver and gold, more brown than
amber, the changing tides turning
white capped each day they fall
and why do they fall? is it times and
seasons or weariness of days
that ask too much of late and too
often turn my heart to home, the
journey I wanted a different place
but if you wait at hearthside, I will
come willingly when the hour strikes
and look for you at end of day where
resting forms lay out before the
burning and laughter welcomes
once again, in gentle embrace
our smiles, reminiscent of youth
or very least of younger days