I Like My Old Age To Be Mellow Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Thou art to soul as sleep is to my strife,
The cheeks look when no more rosy nor full,
Lips no more red, knees busy nor supple,
The flesh when falters, wrinkles be when rife,
In a feeble frame grey forgetting mind,
And will unable to stand firm behind.

Bite me if ye wish like a harsh winter,
But come, Death, like a lingering night's sleep,
Or be thou golden yellow soft summer,
For a tired soul that lived full, well and deep,
To whom life is like a day's work well done,
Like night's rest well-earned to face morrow's sun.

In glimmering sunset's withering glow,
I'd then like my old age to be mellow.
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Sonnets | 03.01.08 |