Picking cotton, scarred hands, aged fingers,
It is a romance with aging.
Withered skin, slowly drying up, disgusting to some but to time its love.
Remember where you where yesterday and the laughter that often chased your blues away.
The invention of so many things,
The scraping of knees and wearing of rings,
The train, car and airplane rides.
The slow dance in the morning ending with breakfast at nights.
The early dinners and moonlit skies, with those holidays where you we know better but who wants to be right.
Those moments that childhood trapped us in, where there was no such things as imaginary friends, you had so many
The bald head and graceful bow, black and white movies and standing proud was to challenge everything we thought to know.
The respect and stories remembered and told and gray hair all this is part of getting old.
So everyone will, if blessed to age will understand that time made love to the you.
Time made time for you so you could be seen into time a love story true
I miss you time