She plucks at my gray hairs
"How come you have them" she whispers
"Are you really really old?"
She plucks at them once again
Thinking she can pull them out
I reach up, stopping her
She's only seven, so full of questions
"Mommy doesn't have them"
She babbles on and on
Of course Mommy doesn't have them
She hasn't lived the life I have
She's had it relatively easy
"Daddy doesn't have them either"
Why would he, he was good boy, did what he was told
Not full of the rebellion I was, not brash nor bold
"Poppop has them, are you as old as Poppop?"
Sure Poppop has them, he got them from me
All the trouble, pain and anguish I put him through
And still he stands by me, the prodigal daughter
Her questions filling the air
As she bounces from chair to chair
I rise now, standing before the mirror
Looking at my reflection, staring at the gray
Recalling my momma's words, at the time thinking them absurd
Now realizing that she spoke the truth
"Wear them with pride, don't let them hide
A badge of honor, of courage and strength
You earn every one of them, living through hell
Surviving everything that comes along
Wear them with pride girl, you have earned them"
Looking to my right, at the box of dye just bought
I'm thirty- nine, I carry scars and aches, a bunch of gray hairs
Because I survived, I came through it all, I'm alive
Now I wear them all with pride...

as always you amaze me,have missed you I can so relate to so many of your writes...hugs

as always a wonderful write.....have missed seeing you.

great that you are writing again...very poignant

Bravo My Daughter,,,

Yo Eagle are ya seein this! Lmao my twin's wisdom....