Poetry

At times it might look and feel if the young
are truly living, are really happy,
as if to them the whole world does belong
in their bliss, even in iniquity;

some call ageing trifling, even paltry,
but in the eyes of the honest true love,
age brings a kind of great maturity
and nothing can the loveliness remove

which in each word and deed selfless express
the greatest kind of sheer loving kindness
when a heart does unwavering love possess
and love has a own unique blindness

that does overreach everything else,
a deep thing about which any poet tells.

[Reference: “Sailing to Byzantium” by W.B. Yeats.]