It never ceases to amaze and delight me how the faces of old people grow more beautiful with the passing years.
Except my own of course! Without make up I don't like to see myself in the mirror with everything wrinkling and drooping.
An unexpected glimpse shows me sometimes my mother and sometimes my father....
The American poet Karle Wilson Baker wrote...
Let me grow lovely, growing old---
So many fine things to do;
Laces and ivory and gold,
And silks, need not be new.
And there is beauty in old trees,
Old streets a glamour hold;
Why may not I, as well as these,
Grow lovely, growing old?