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The Nonagenarian

In her chair by the window she sits,
And watches the throng go by;
But the people she sees, with her age-dimmed eyes
Are those who passed long since.

Like the foam on the wave is her hair,
And all that is left of her youth
Is the bloom on her cheek and the smile on her lip—
The gifts of a life well lived.

She blows them a kiss from her hand,
And nods and smiles as they greet,
But the people she sees, with her age-dimmed eyes
Are those who passed long since.

—Charlotte M. Storey

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