In the tapestry of time, threads silver and gold,
Each strand is a story, each wrinkle a tale untold,
Aging isn't a curse, but a gracious unfold,
Of life lived in depth, in warmth, and in cold.

Days whisper softly, in sunsets of molten hue,
Reminding us gently of things we once knew.
Each dawn is a blessing, every twilight is too,
Age is but stardust, our hearts remain true.

The mirror might reflect, a visage lined with years,
Eyes carrying echoes of laughter, of tears.
But within beats a heart, unscathed by the fears,
Growing only kinder, as the sunset nears.

Age paints with wisdom, every line a stroke,
In the silence, the echoes, in the fires that it stokes.
It's the melody in the old, familiar folk,
The comfort in an aged oak, beneath which you've once spoke.

So let us embrace the gray, the silver and the white,
The passage of the seasons, the dimming of the light.
For in getting older, we reach a new height,
A beacon of wisdom, in the tranquility of the night.