Grey is Gentle: a poem for poetry month

Grey is gentle

Grey is gentle, in between,

neither one, nor the other.

Not young, not old,

not frightened, nor bold.

This greying I welcome,

my edges will unform,

boundaries soften, too.

Like the wall I kept for you,

leaned against in sun,

in springtime, chasing the wind,

restless over its rocky width,

sheltered in the divide.

Time wears that wall thin,

a few rocks tumble low,

to these I stoop and slow.

Pilgrim! Clamber and breach,

in ash, rags or foolish skin,

worn silver and gentle, it’s true,

still drawn, sage and delighted, by you. 

PD 
For my friends, all greying gracefully