In twilight’s glow, with silvered hair,
I sit in peace, a weathered chair.
The world once rushed, now gently flows,
Like softened streams where memory goes.
My footsteps echo in tiny feet,
In grandchildren’s laughter, pure and sweet.
They dance through days I thought long gone,
And suddenly, my youth lives on.
A tale I told a hundred times,
Now finds new ears and sweeter rhymes.
Each story shared, a thread retied,
To patch the quilt where dreams reside.
Their eyes are stars, alight and wide,
They see the world I used to ride.
Through them I leap, I build, I roam—
Through them, the past becomes my home.
No race to run, no hill to climb,
Just moments steeped in honeyed time.
A hand to hold, a kiss, a grin,
Old age, I find, wears joy within.
So let the wrinkles trace my days,
Each line a path, each mark a praise.
For in these years I’ve come to see,
The richest youth is memory.
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