Sunday Poems - August 29, 2021
Grandmother Moon Takes a Personal Interest
Grandmother Moon
shifts from maid to crone
in endless variations.
She knocks on my door
I hide, not wanting her wisdom
or her transformations.
I want to stay frozen in youth.
"Gray hair, wrinkles
are they the price of wisdom?"
"Nothing stays the same," she says,
offering me a handkerchief.
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