Age

My head is dusted with long gray strands,
of hair, slipping through my hands.

My face is cut with deep jagged lines,
made deeper with age and and passing of time.

As I walk my back stoops low and aches,
with each stride I try to walk, to take.

My legs are tired, my feet are sore,
and my heart beats slower again, once more.

Please, lay me down in my soft white bed,
cover me with warm blankets, that are red.

Shield my face with a piece of lace,
my body with old clothes I've laid in place.

Let my soul sleep quietly in peace,
my mouth no longer takes the time to speak.

For tonight I choose not to wake at dawn,
I have found my place of rest and calm.