These wrinkles are the hands of time,The journeys I’ve been onThey’ve seen me through a thousand days,And ev’ry victory wonThese fragile hands, With exposed bones,Are not a fearful sightBut rather, they, my faithful partners,Rocked babies through the nightThese eyes are weak, They see much less,Than yours they’ve seen much moreThey’ve guided me through birth, through death,Through grief, through hurt, through warThese ears can hear so very little,Yet they’ve learned to listen muchThey perk up not for gossip now,But for a heart to touchThose younger often look my way,With pity looks to giveYet this old body doesn’t mean I am dying,But rather, that I have lived