When we reach those silver years, our days can be empty and idle; reflective, depressive and filled with regret over lives that should have been.

There seems no hope for a better future as our paths are set for the final destiny, a cold tomorrow filled with sorrow. Our day draws near but when…when.

Too many funerals and too many friends have been torn away from our lives; the heartache of loss tears at our souls again and again and again.

Oh mother and father I mourn the loss of your loving comfort and protective hands; holding and molding in those years back then.

Oh Lord you warned “when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and carry you where you loathe to go.”

Is this my time? Is my life only to be filled with woe?

The days of summer have passed by autumn and finally to the bleakness of winter gray as surely as the hair of ancient men.

These are the silver years, the final act as the curtain prepares to close. My Father reminds me of His promises as I shed my last tears.

In the end only He can mend the broken hearts of those silver years.