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The Weight of TimeIn gentle light, I watch her there,My grandmother, with silver hair,Struggles with the golden fungi,Her laughter dances, soft and spry.Ninety-four, a fragile grace,Life's tapestry etched on her face.Yesterday, the sheets misplaced,A fleeting thought, a moment faced.Her world, a puzzle of fading signs,Words of mine like tangled lines."Two dollars now for A dumpling, dear,"She smiles, lost in yesteryear.In her mind, the prices freeze,A different time, a different breeze.A truth unfolds, we all must yield,To the quiet strength the years have sealed.Yet aging’s path is steep and wide,With every step, a cherished guide.I ponder on the days ahead,When echoes of her voice have fled.To think of old age feels so vain,A whisper of grief, a flicker of pain.Yet here I stand, in youth’s embrace,While she navigates time’s gentle race.If only I could truly knowThe struggles buried deep below—But wisdom's weight, when fully felt,Is only borne when youth has knelt.So I cherish each laugh, each gentle sigh,For in her eyes, the stories lie.Though age may come with shadows cast,Love’s light endures, a bridge to the past.In every wrinkle, every tear,A testament to love held dear.And as she smiles, I hold her hand,Together we face what time has planned.