by Karle Wilson Baker
Let me grow lovely, growing old--
So many fine things do:
Laces, and ivory, and gold,
And silks need not be new;
And there is healing in old trees,
Old streets a glamour hold;
Why may not I, as well as these,
Grow lovely, growing old?
1 comment:
Lovely, lovely, lovely.....thanks for including us old broads in your blog! Giggle! Auntie Joye
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