Thanks to all who commented on yesterday's post. Mom sent me this poem by Texas poet Karle Wilson Baker (1878-1960). It does not appear to be copyrighted so here it is.
Let me grow lovely, growing old— So many fine things doLaces, and ivory, and gold, And silks need not be new; And there is healing in old trees, Old streets a glamour hold; Why may not I, as well as these, Grow lovely, growing old?
And what could be lovelier in the spring than these fine old willows which are coming into flower in a park this week in our city?