Did you ever stop to listen to,
the wisdom of the hoary head?
I was facinated as a child,
by most everything they said.
The other children would take no time,
they always ran outside to play.
But I'd sit around, with the grown-ups,
to listen to what they would say.
As they shared thier stories from the past,
and I would sit there quietly.
Way over in the corner hoping,
that nobody would notice me.
Growing up I tried to seek them out,
to harvest the things that they knew.
Storing them up in my memory,
so I could one day share them too.
Now I am just entering into,
my new rank as a hoary head.
Wondering who will ever recall,
my words when I'm dead.
c.d.m 2009
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem