Within the whispered wind, bumble bees
fly their syncopated figure eights.
Praying mantises fall to their knees
…within the whispered winds.
Rich blessings float from heavenly gates
and set kissing dragonflies at ease
before all worldly sorrow abates.
Sunday psalms sung softly in the breeze
settle where the flock congregates.
Hallowed ambience exudes heartsease
…within the whispered wind.
Mirror, Mirror, answers I need.
What are the options I should heed?
My gray hairs are getting clearer?
Answers I need, Mirror, Mirror.
Face, I see your foes advancing
between your blacks, grays are dancing.
They’re here to stay, I guarantee;
your foes advancing, Face, I see.
Dear Face, don’t dye, give up, submit
gray hairs will never, ever quit.
As more and more blacks say good-bye
give up, submit, dear Face, don’t dye.
Glaring roots and ghastly color
texture stiff and getting duller.
Every hair strand is in cahoots
ghastly color and glaring roots.
It comes with age, gray’s no disease;
No medicine will grant heartsease.
The mirror’s right, it is a sage;
gray’s no disease, it comes with age.
September 17, 2022
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