Taffeta ruffles,
meet the starch of age.
Your blush now comes from a bottle.
Fallen arches and brittle bones
wave farewell to the seamless beauty
of youth,
the lithe and supple grace
in looking-glass of old.
Don’t trade wisdom for agility,
or experience for smooth skin.
Embrace the wrinkles
that stamp Life into features;
name gray hairs
Maturity and Character.
As your last sun sets,
stand tall.
Smile.
When your light rises again,
your skin will be fresh and new.
Your legs will be strong,
your steps sure.
Wait, my friend.
Your day is coming.
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 
“Your blush now comes from a bottle…” Come on, now. That’s a very cool picture.
Not when in the application process! 🙂
That’s alright, I use glue on nails (guitarist). Yup, I’m a man’s man…ooh, look a yucky bug.
*giggle* Swat it for me, would ya? (bats eyelashes in a feminine swoon….)
Sure. Dames love that…
I think I’ve just graduated from ‘ma’am’ to ‘dame’…. 🙂
Sure ting, toots.
🙂
Oh what used to be. My father was an alcoholic and died at 33. So I welcomed age as it came to me, have a drink? No thank-you I answered for almost 50 years now. So I look in the mirror and smile at the white hair and age spots. Thanks Dad you have shown me the path not to follow. Whatever the Lord has for me on the other side, I know I will meet my true Father in Heaven.
Blessings, Bill
Bill, I’m so sorry that you had to learn this important lesson in such a difficult way. But your pain at who your Dad couldn’t be will erased when you see your True Father – what a day that will be, when the little boy in you is loved as he should have been loved long ago! Enjoy those white hairs! 🙂
This almost has me in tears, Melody–the “can’t wait” kind! A work of creative encouragement indeed–and I definitely wouldn’t go back to being stunningly beautiful with nothing to show for it (that’s occasionally weep-worthy too, but I don’t waste tears or time anymore–forward, march!) God bless you Big–love, Caddo
Love that – forward, march! Sounds like a subject for a poem?? Hugs to you!
I love this poem and how it says, “forward march” too. 🙂 Someone told me that it’s a privilege to get to grow old. 🙂 Thank you, Melody, for our life lessons today!
Having come back from a funeral for a 17 year old today, I am thinking that it IS a privelege to grow old! 😦 What a difficult day for his poor family…