the thin white sheet that covered her-
as she laid bare.
she whispered to the morning,
stretched towards the-
colors converge creating a catalyst-
her soul finds wealth among the fringe-
worn patches of cotton.
each year, she sheds another skin
watching as it falls away-
her humanity exposed. once-
crouching to conceal her character
now, rising as she lifts new life beyond
tiptoes dance upon solid stone.
May this be the year that I find my first of many gray hairs.