I know, I grow old….. I grow old
When silver threads peek in my head.
The flush on radiant cheeks wanes,
And a pallid tint creeps unseen.
Fading years have robbed the ardour
And a rigid sobriety sinks and settles.
I hear the howl of autumn winds,
That come to shake off the yellowing leaves.
Dragging tired feet through pavements
I try in vain to keep pace with the young.
Mind grows annoyed and distressed
As the bones beneath the skin go brittle.
The weary body spins rugged,
Like a rusted machine never overhauled.
The soul grows mutinous over things unknown
And reasons hard to trace.......!
There is a tumult in my silence
Like the undercurrents of calm waters.
Through miles on dreary miles of gloom
That stretch out before the eyes, endless,
Where can I find a quiet haven
To lower my burden and rest awhile?
Comments about this poem (A Lament by Valsa George )
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