The Young and the Aged
THE YOUNG AND THE AGED
Laced serenely upon his bed
He utters not the slightest tale
Hushed beneath the warmth,
He quibbles and smiles, proudly displays his wrinkles
To the whispers of the silent mad
“There he lays, the aged old man
There he lays, the foolish mad man
What a pity, what a shame
How boorish his life must have been
Wilted and worn, Of no use anymore”
The poor old man, The foolish mad man
Cannot speak, cannot argue this untruth
And so he takes the battle to his head
To whisper in his glare the answer of his mind
“Wrinkled and old, I am, ‘Tis true,
But no fool am I
Days I have seen come and go
Life, I have lived to and fro
And time has imprisoned me, no doubt
I shan’t deny, and though I speak not young fool,
My mind still laughs at you
For, Days will wilt the nights away
And the lights will shatter your days
To specs and blooms of silver mains
But, young one
Will your mind reason as mine?
For I, dear, think, reason, and understand
The fool that you claim I am
My fall was landed in these drapes
But there will come a day when these drapes will be joyfully yours
When my place will be taken by none other than you
Laugh at me now, I wonder who will laugh at you?”
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