I listen in quite the rain
With the talent I seem to lose;
Another harping rhyme comes
Amid myriad others banal,
The mind once imaginative;
Able to compose sound lines,
Paint beauty at it`s best
Lament youth sophistries
Narrate my light accordingly.
Shall I have fortitude
To calm the yearning heart;
Of toppled hopes and dreams,
Shall I seek higher joy
Like that found in nature;
And sing high with the birds
Exempt my feet from earth.
What is our life then?
A honeycomb of honey
A liquid gold nice to taste;
Amid a tranquil forest
Where Youth employ reason
Devoid off sophistry,
Where old Age bear a smile
Fearless of fate,
And Beauty in sweet form
Calm and serene.
