The Old And New Poem by Gil Gregorio

I could not see how the old
die younger for reasons deprive it;
I could not see how it makes the old
cry for the truth demur it.
The roots ream a vision though
it went through a labyrinth:
it wheeled, went and gone by...
but each has its own choice,
hope, and rest.
I don't want to see more how the old
die older or the youth younger,
for reasons I refuse to know.
'Why? ...'
Please, don't ask me, Grandpa...