purplerabbit | (no subject)

My mother just shared this poem with her new Red Hat group. I wrote this poem when I was 16 for my mother who (although only 37 at the time) was complaining about getting old.

FLOWER OF AGE
by Dawn Atkins

Time goes on,
And takes it's toll.
The sphere of Earth
Orbits Sol.

Another year gone,
The years accumulate.
Life continues,
And falls to fate.

This movement
Some have stated,
Makes one old
And dilapidated.

But wait,
Stand the great oak tree,
The Centuries
Hath made it mighty.

And again,
Taste the aged wine,
Time has ripened
And made it fine.

Look the Mona Lisa!
Oh, see the lady fair,
Her smile bright,
Her age, she does not care.

So would this force,
This power of time,
Cause you to summit
And then decline?

You who possess
Wisdom and maturity?
Your's is the
Experience and ability!

Wisdom is a gift
That must be earned,
The interest
From all you've learned.

You're an asset
More valuable than gold.
A treasure
For which there is no mold.

More powerful
Than any mage,
You are
The flower of age!