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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