As Graceful as a lily's folded leaves,
As Honest as a yellow ray of sun,
As Gentle as the spring-time's knowing breeze,
An aging life knows not an art that's done.
For just as wine grows sweeter with the years,
And chocolate more enticing with each bite,
A life is worthiest when it endears
More struggle toward a creeping endless night.
As wisps of hair pale into cotton clouds,
And river channels cut through ancient skin,
A Voice dissipates to whisper- not loud,
And eyes must strain to see the brightest pen.

I wish your eyes could see your flower more,
Than I see as I watch your beauty soar.