Stubble now creeps up from his beard
into the hair on the sides of his head --
blond early on,
   brown latter on down,
      black in middle age,
blond back 
after many years;
 
gray wasn’t what he feared;
white was ahead,
pointing the way 
to when he would be dead.

He stands and 
   looks in the mirror seeing 
      the ghost he has become --
unresolved tragedy,
   unfinished business,
      unnecessary necessities.

*idea from a meditation by Frederick Buechner