Silver

I like silver better older
With its fine blue dust
Taking shelter in the notches
A lovely sort of rust
It looks much more refined
With its overcoat of grey
Like the swirling cirrus clouds
On an overly bright day
It smells of must and ages
The smell that I do love
it looks placid
and quite calming
With white splotches
Like a dove
New silver reflects far too much
It always looks so fake
Given the choice between the two
Old silver I would take

This poem is for my great grandmother who is in the hospital, but recovering quickly :)