A New Old

From youth to its post
The mail has a snail's trail
An often fraudulent path
Traipsed by those who cannot wait

Gray will come with or without dying
Every hair has its day
And its night

So perhaps it's a warning
A gradual warming
To the facts and the fractures
The lies and contractions

A rail against hypocrisy
Is a train stuck in time
While the softness and willing
Is a flexible spine