I know a youth lank and lean
Who could run and never tire
And I saw plainly what he saw
And burned deeply with his desire
For the world had possibilities then
There were morals that seemed etched in stone
And politicians worthy to be called statesmen
But alas all of this is past and gone.
The youth has become a middle aged man
And too much living has made him tired
He walks when once he ran
With an imagination no longer fired
By possibilities but a feeling of remorse
For a world whose moral compass
Now sets a treacherous course
As into oblivion fond memories slowly pass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem