One day age will bend me down And I will walk slowly like my old father. I will have left life's mysterious codes Those codes that slowly left me, rather.
That day will come soon enough: Old age has its own mystery and pain; But wonders too at the singing bird, the trailing rose The thunder and the rain.
My bones will be frail, my shoulders stooped. I will recall the past, mirages and things; Time will be measured by each new dawn, and The wonders that each sunrise brings.
