I’ve heard it said:
“Kids will bring the gray.”
Which explains why ginger
Still locks up my follicles
Though my beard and brows
Have been golden and red forever.
Was I born aged, or like wine,
Will I catch up to my purpose?
Either way, gray finds us all,
Eventually, visibly on the head,
Or in the soul, wearied from the world,
Or in the heart, love gone cold
From years and years.
The eyes, I hope, go last -
I wish to see one more sunset,
Bursting with yellow and scarlet,
Before a final dusk settles
Turning the earth to gray night.
a simple man 