Poetry Sunday

I almost never feel my age, even in the early morning and late evening ... except, of course, after a day spent in the hyperactive company of my grandchildren. This classic poem by Charles Kingsley talks to the changes we see and the way we experience the world as we grow older, if not wiser.

Young and Old

by Charles Kingsley

When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,
And all the trees are brown;
And all the sport is stale, lad,
And all the wheels run down;
Creep home, and take your place there,
The spent and maimed among:
God grant you find one face there,
You loved when all was young.

Have a good day, and enjoy the rest of your weekend ... hopefully with that one face you loved when all was young.

More thoughts coming.

Bilbo