Crown of Silver
by S.W. Wildwood
At twenty-two my hair began to gray.
Ten years more and from my temples
Stretched stripes of silver spray.
How young still to look so old,
So the whispers ’round would say.
True. There are some who would wail
At the marks of age and time.
Yet, I rejoice of such an assail.
Every thread holds account of my life.
And crowns me in twin comet tail.
So, let time pass and do not fret.
I wish you love each line and hair.
Your adventures and trials do not forget.
These are your medals of honor;
The story of your life in a coronet.