Their grey hair and weathered faces tell the tale of their lives. The elders who have survived throughout the generations. The old ones who have seen the hard years. They have seen abject poverty and war. They have survived. They have lived to tell their stories. They tell their stories in soft monotone voices, and whispering tones. To sit at their feet and listen to their stories is to understand their journey and their plight. Their deep seated eyes are cloudy, almost ghost like. Their stares are haunting, and can touch the soul. Their eyes have seen many things indeed. In their old age they are content in their spirits, and have gracefully accepted their mortality. They have lived; they have experienced. The ancient ones take joy in their offspring; their grandchildren and great grandchildren quicken their spirit, and give them reason to live longer. Their history is passed down from generation to generation. They are revered and loved. Their words of wisdom are words to live by, exceeding any price or value. In their old age they speak with directness and profoundness. It is refreshing, and a break from the normalcy of political correctness, and the herd mentality. Their twilight years are filled with serenity and peace. Elderly couples rekindle their romance year by year. The elderly women age beautifully in their elegance, and the elderly men age well in their youthful strength and grey beards. They are the ancients. They are a treasure.
