Gray hair

Wisps of white
Snow or cotton
Are appearing even
Now on my chin
I refuse to acknowledge
This passing of time
Ignorance, as they say, is bliss
But perhaps in my case
Could be blinds to
This old work horse…
“I’m still as young
As I used to be”
I keep saying to myself
Perhaps some genie
Will overhear these ramblings
Of this crazy man
Denying his own ignorance
Perhaps not.