Her age, the years
She's collected upon her wrinkled hands
Memories flickering
As she traces the decades and
Almost a century
Upon the mirror she faces
The graying of Grace
When left to it's own devices
How loneliness slowly
Feeds off the tears recollection
Becomes malady & enemy
She abandons tracing her years by finger
Retract mental claw,
Rather without reason instead
Gaze into her own eyes
A reflection from whence she recognizes the youth she was
The beautiful the newness
Of awe, not fear,
A life she reflects upon ..  
At the ends of our dreaming, at the edge of it's landscape...
The unknown, why fear ? Flying not toward death
But wake to a new breadth...