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All life they slogged till crept on them old age!
Their children were the pupils of their eyes;
By habit still, to work they yet manage,
With spirit good, weary their body lies.
The toil they put is ‘yond an estimate;
Their loving service is just very great;
They wait for Time’s scythe to emancipate;
Disgruntled world, they can never satiate.
What a wretched world, this happens to be!
Unprepared even now, their senescence is;
Busy children care not for elderly;
But wise old-aged humans on earth’s a bliss!
’tis sad when strikes old-age the aged its gong!
The frail figures cannot withstand for long.
Dr John Celes
Read poems about / on: children, sad, work, world, time, sonnet, child
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