Old Age Poem by Yusuf al Khal

We wipe the chill wave from our faces
And tell ourselves the story of spring:
How the breeze smiles,
The birds sing,
The trees dance;
How the seed stretches its roots in the soil
And bears fruit.
We tell ourselves the story of autumn,
When the shadows are bowed
And evening lengthens,
Then suddenly a star appears,
Or a moon shines,
And when the fence falls,
The fields stretch out naked,
As far as the eye can see.
We tell ourselves the story of summer,
Which comes to us on the wings
Of a warm melody,
Or the leap of joyous swallow,
while we gather the crop,
Or recall the halt of a cloud,
Here and there in the distance.
We wipe the chill wave from our faces
And tell ourselves the seasons' story.
But the wave sinks deep in our veins and vanishes.
We think it vanishes,
Yet, suddenly, it appears-
Here, in a hair turned white,
There, in a lip turned dry.