“sonnet about getting old”

Time’s gentle thief creeps softly through my days,  
His touch reshaping laughter into lines—  
The mirror’s truth, a quiet, hinting haze  
Of silver threading through my hair’s designs.  
The strength that once defied the pull of years  
Now sways to gentler rhythms, slow and kind.  
Yet wisdom finds its voice where youth appears  
To fade, and memory gilds the mind.  

The faces dearest change, then bloom anew,  
Grandchildren playing in the autumn light.  
A softer dawn, a sky of changing hue,  
Old joys return in dreams to bless the night.  
So let me age with gratitude and grace,  
For every line is love I can embrace.

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