When I am old
And crows feet tickle the corners of my eyes
And silver parts the waters of my hair

When my knees crack like thunder
And my ankles somehow know it's going to rain

When my mind starts to slip
Like a camera out of focus
Or maybe like the water damaged photographs
In the attic

When I am ancient and beautiful
In the sunset years of my existence,
I hope to have achieved a life
Where I didn't fear walking through a war
For some semblance of peace.