by John Smallshaw
(London, England)

I see the silver in your hair
that wasn't there
thirty years and four months ago.
But who's counting?
I'm mounting an attack upon the grey that streaks the black
atop my head.
It's all a vanity
an insanity that comes and goes
but slows with age.

But you're looking good
you always did
I always knew you would.

And I,
well I can still recall the music hall where we first met
and how we set another date
'cause you came late
and missed the final

But I danced home all the same
I got your name
and your word that we'd go out on March the third
and celebrate you being late
what a date.
How could I forget.

The silver that shows in your hair reminding me
of us and of being there
when you changed
my life.

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