When the core of life is worn, old men bent,
Look on the aging earth with wizened eye
And wonder if their youth was fairly spent,
As they embrace their bygones with a sigh.
Oh that the great wide world was young again,
That youthful passion surged with every beat;
When songs of life were nought but joy’s refrain
And every challenge met, would know defeat!
True wisdom is but foresight steeped in time,
That dread great leveler to the dreams of men,
Whose simple touch youths’ flourish does begrime;
No mortal born yet won a race with him.
How life plays out lies much ‘twixt time and fate;
But squandered time is often man’s estate.
©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.