Old age repels me; I shudder
to see ‘em drool in a corner;
Closer is the desolate moor,
Warm memories now a blur.
Mind strays into stray gleams
Of a fragmented past for release;
Gleams of youth, unclouded by care
When days were roses
dancing in the breeze.
Heart was flushed in the zeal of love
for all and sundry, in primitive poise;
It went, came the clouded days
of sick doubts, frail inner ties.
Dull as palsied leaves they await
the cold gust to be blown away;
God! Terrible it is to die with the mist
without a tomb for a tender soul to pray.