The Hoary Head Poem by cheryl davis miller

Did you ever stop to listen to,
the wisdom of the hoary head?
I was facinated as a child,
by most everything they said.

The other children would take no time,
they always ran outside to play.
But I'd sit around, with the grown-ups,
to listen to what they would say.

As they shared thier stories from the past,
and I would sit there quietly.
Way over in the corner hoping,
that nobody would notice me.

Growing up I tried to seek them out,
to harvest the things that they knew.
Storing them up in my memory,
so I could one day share them too.

Now I am just entering into,
my new rank as a hoary head.
Wondering who will ever recall,
my words when I'm dead.

c.d.m 2009