Time...
The silent invisible thief
Of life indiscriminately
Creeps along, irreversibly
Filching tiny bits of precious
Youth from us, always leaving clues
Behind yet unbeknown at first
Whereas youth is preoccupied
With its feigned immortality.
But comes a time when youth shuffles
Off this pretentious naïveté
When he first sights that single strand
Of silver hair at his temple
Or those unmistakable fine
Lines subtly etched around his eyes.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Added by Poetry Lover
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