Like the first few flakes of snow
On the leaves of rusty brown
Are the first gray hairs to show
In the beard beneath my frown.
Snow is “early” in November,
And I feel too young for gray—
But then again I can’t remember
What my face felt like clean shaved.
One by one the flakes compound
And still Fall’s rustling with a hush
While the gray of Time resounds,
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
November 18, 2018