Poetry

Experience is that blessed bequest
Buried deep within a veteran's chest
You need not go to the East or West
To see that old age is indeed blest.
 
Youthfulness is like an unripe fruit
No scenty flowers and no offshoot
Just surviving on the good old root
To that ageing root we pay tribute.
 
The prestige of ageing is fourfold
With baldness, wisdom will unfold
With gray hair, anger is controlled
With wrinkles, beauty is extolled
When you get old, you are Gold.
 
Who still wants to be young forever?
Ask me and I'll reply: Not me, never
Wake up, age is just another number
Your legacy is what makes life better.
 
You may feel weak, feeble and cold
Your sight may fade and be on hold
Speech impaired with words untold
But do not despair for old is Gold.