A Turning Gold Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

I fear of being called old
but in fact turning Gold
astute behavior and approach bold
head of the family and very nice hold

Calmness like sea and brightness like sun
family members would love and make fun
my try to win the race with stick walk run
children may point with small barrel gun

'Grandpa, your time is over'
we will give you cover
your inning should not last
as you are aging very fast

Don't leave us behind
where from we will find?
you are our dad's dad and very kind
we touch your feet as you are soft and mild

It turns me old when somethig I hear
“One time handsome may not remain dear”
He is loosing charm and wrinkles developed
Great show on stage is likedly to be floaped

I feel delighted when hear nice words
There is no fun to think of age and look backward
Any one may go for high jump when fully young
Alas! it is beautiful inning but not going to last long

Who can stop the blowing wind?
Who can clip the bird’s wing?
You may go high in the air
The game is considered to be very fair

It is the test of time that you spread the fragrance
The ability and young age is thing of presence
It may stay as long as you think it is in your reach
The birds may come down to find and search

Where do we find peace and shelter?
Where is our final destginy and cover?
Who will accompany us till the end?
The world has to be made as lovely abode and friend

The sun may shine hard and rain may cause the blow
The vigor and strength may develop cracks and go slow
The speed may slower and ri ver may stop the flow
The eys may loose the sight and face its glow

The wrinkles are sign of wisdom
It truly reflects but speaks seldom
Who knows better what can be spoken off?
World may not realize when to cry and laugh

The river water have calmed down and flow silently
The words too are spoken very nicely and gently
You represent serious figure and act as saintly
The advice too comes easily and instantly

One must, in times to come, must grow old
So many may be following you and come in fold
It is not wrinkles but lines on face
That may speak of marathon race