The young man wears his heart upon his sleeve,

The old man sports life’s battles on his face,

The woes of time bring both unto their knees

Where death shall wield, in time, the final mace.

Life is a poignant marching odyssey,

That hails by wailed inception from the womb

A journey schooled in fate’s philosophies—

All dreams, though winged, descend into the tomb.

Hope rests a spring upon a mountain high,

Fear stalks as shadows slinking forest deep;

Joy is a smile, a kiss, a whispered sigh,

Love is a flame that burns all hearts it keeps.

The young man lies within an old man’s arms

Each soul entreats the other: carry on.