Once when I was young, I would be old,
And leave my idle youth behind.
Not caring that in youth, was a wealth in gold,
Oh sweet ignorant, adolescent mind.
And now in the winter of my life,
And my joints swollen with pain,
I'd give it all up, all the strife,
If God made me eighteen again.
1/28/12
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Agree with you on this one! Age makes one value the years past. Great poem!