Time is creeping into my mirror

my hair showing winter

in its strands

swaths of snow overtaking the dark

around a face no longer young

Time is creeping into my vision

white strands spilling through my hands

a transformation of increasing speed

white strands rushing in like so many runaway trains

Time is creeping into my body

white strands

and new creaking joints

a small symphony upon awakening

as I take my first popping steps across the tile

Time is creeping into me

inevitable on its march

revealing itself in each step and each glance

reminding me of all behind and ahead – Caroline A. Slee