"Old Is Gold"

In wrinkled hands and silver strands,

Lie tales of time and loving lands.

A voice once strong, now soft and slow,

Still sings the songs we used to know.

The eyes that watched us as we grew,

Still hold the skies, so wide and true.

Their steps may falter, days feel long,

But in their heart, the light is strong.

The stories told a hundred times,

Are treasures deep, like ancient rhymes.

Each wrinkle, scar, and quiet sigh,

Is proof they’ve lived, and loved, and tried.

We chase the new, the fast, the bright,

Yet find our peace in softer light.

For all that glitters may not last —

But gold grows richer with the past.

So hold them close, both hand and heart,

For every end was once a start.

The ones we call both wise and old,

Are roots of love — and they are gold.