plucking

plucking gray hairs as though they were weeds in the field
what does this simple act say about aging and vanity
plucked from the head they now rest on black desk top
another morning is here in such an ordinary way
plucking hairs listening to music letting it all simply be

let them be

Don't start a gray day with tears
streaming down your face
but if you have to
let them go
where they need to
Let them find their way
They know what you need
to make it better
for a moment
before you get dressed
before you step out the door
to face the day
the traffic
the heat of the summer
the ambivalence of the world