|
One day age will bend me down
And I will walk slowly like my old father.
I will have left life's mysterious codes
Those codes that slowly left me, rather.
That day will come soon enough:
Old age has its own mystery and pain;
But wonders too at the singing bird, the trailing rose
The thunder and the rain.
My bones will be frail, my shoulders stooped.
I will recall the past, mirages and things;
Time will be measured by each new dawn, and
The wonders that each sunrise brings.
|
|
