MRS. C. writes:

Your post last week about the lack of grace in growing old brought to mind this poem I thought you might like:

Let me grow lovely, growing old-
So many fine things do;
Lace, and ivory, and gold,
And silks need not be new.

And there is healing in old trees,
Old streets a glamour hold;
Why not I, as well as these,
Grow lovely, growing old?

— Karen Wilson Baker

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