Sparks of Youth
THEY say that I am old. I’m past three score and ten, On borrowed time I’m told, Yet dawn is here again.
I don’t believe I’m old. I grumpy get, and blue; But laughter breaks the hold, I joke, then I feel new.
I don’t admit I’m old. Some wrinkles in my skin... But my eyes twinkle bold, With sparks of youth within.
I sometimes do feel old. Some whinges I admit; And twinges when it’s cold. But I get over it.
I may be slightly old. I’m deaf and yet it seems I hear when dreams unfold,
And I am young in dreams.
My date of birth is old. I was a boy, too right, When penny stamps were sold, And kero lamps lit night.
Should I admit I’m old? All right, I’ll face the truth: My name’s no more enrolled Upon the scrolls of youth.
I own the fact: I’m old. My name’s writ in God’s book. The bell has not yet tolled, But more to heaven I look.
I say to those not old, Your banner be unfurled; God grant a future gold; For better change the world.