To a grey hair

Slender silver sliver;
little hair of shining grey;
age comes to deliver
more and more of you each day.

You resemble blades of grass
that winters frost turns white
but I’ll not tremble; time must pass
and old age need not bite.

And the more a man’s eyes grow dim,
the more his mind can see,
as heavens realm draws close to him,
of true eternity.