Youth is spring,
blossoms, smoothness, idealized perfection.
Old age is winter,
frost, concealment, farewells.
Only summer and fall build bridges,
ripeness and golden harvest time
gliding toward wilting and letting go.
Through different lenses we may see
the lustrous skin of youth as cold as marble,
while wrinkles of age show warmth and wisdom.
Young eyes may shine bright and proud,
but lack insight.
Muscular legs can run fast,
but be unable to slow down and meditate.
Dark locks of hair entangle in an embrace,
while silky gray strands are caressed by the wind.
The fit body finds admirers,
but tenderness hovers over frailty.
The young heart beats with optimism,
but may neglect to open its chambers to listen.
If we accept our bodies, ourselves across time,
we find beauty in every season.