A rose for the month of June in which I was born, and a poem to honour growing older, and embracing it gracefully!

Silver                                                                                                                        

A silver strand

A precious chain round neck adorns

Or stories scrawled in graphite on a page

Of days when gold out shone them all

Those summers spent in splendid rays

Carefree days

Windblown, sun-bleached gold

Of times when warmest brown was tied and wrapped in warmest wool

Strands of brown loosed by breezes catching flakes of falling snow.

Then with the years came fears of losing bright,

Of fading dim

But silver is the hue of brave

Of swords forged in the flame

Sharpened strong on stone

It is the palate of the wise

A book that only time can write

Of places seen and lessons learned

It is the tone of currency

Of mines producing precious

And long refining bringing forth of higher worth

These silver strands not covered up

But worn with pride and confidence

For all that’s good and beautiful takes time.