when we are young we would like to be older |
cinemas, bars, no entrance for us |
|
becoming adult we want to be seasoned |
we like to know everything and all |
|
turning older we hope to still look thirty |
while being proud of four decades |
|
but the ultimate clock tells us about fifty |
when slowly the 'being young' fades |
|
reaching the last decade we become honest |
we finally do accept what lies ahead |
|
every year, every month, every day is a gift |
if only we had kept in hand the wasted time |
|