Sixties
We call greenest years our best,
Wherein we know so much less,
But gold is autumn's lovely hue
With knowledge, and fine beauty, too.
We resign ourselves unto the grave,
At such a tender, wanton age-
The glass is only just half filled,
Miles left till heartbeats stilled.
Oh, we've got so much to go,
Before our efforts overflow
To stain carpet with grief and tears-
Still we have so many years.
Wherein we know so much less,
But gold is autumn's lovely hue
With knowledge, and fine beauty, too.
We resign ourselves unto the grave,
At such a tender, wanton age-
The glass is only just half filled,
Miles left till heartbeats stilled.
Oh, we've got so much to go,
Before our efforts overflow
To stain carpet with grief and tears-
Still we have so many years.
Key Words : Life, love, self, humanity, human nature, aging, growing older
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I see too many people die before they\'re dead... It\'s all in our heads.
Beautiful!
Nice poem! Dividing into quatrains might be a good idea.