Sparks of Youth

Isis Town and Country - - Opinion - By RON GRA­HAM

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.

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