Gray is the strands woven into our hair.
The color of countless years.
Close your eyes, reminisce the past.
But the echoes slowly fade.
The memories finally vanish.
Gray is the dust on an untouched shelf.
A mind, once sharp, that dulls year by year.
The youthful glow now silently withers.
And the soft whisper of a forgotten name.
A weary storm, aching to rest.
Gray is the past, shaping and shifting.
How we constantly change.
Our vision blurs, like time drifting through the fog.
Slipping quietly into the dusk.
A hush after the final note.
--Samantha S., 9th-12th Grade