The Young and the Aged

Laced serenely upon his bed He utters not the slightest tale Hushed beneath the warmth, He quibbles and smiles, proudly displays his wrinkles To the whispers of the silent mad “There he lays, the aged old man There he lays, the foolish mad man What a pity, what a shame How boorish his life must have been Wilted and worn, Of no use anymore” The poor old man, The foolish mad man Cannot speak, cannot argue this untruth And so he takes the battle to his head To whisper in his glare the answer of his mind “Wrinkled and old, I am, ‘Tis true, But no fool am I Days I have seen come and go Life, I have lived to and fro And time has imprisoned me, no doubt I shan’t deny, and though I speak not young fool, My mind still laughs at you For, Days will wilt the nights away And the lights will shatter your days To specs and blooms of silver mains But, young one Will your mind reason as mine? For I, dear, think, reason, and understand The fool that you claim I am My fall was landed in these drapes But there will come a day when these drapes will be joyfully yours When my place will be taken by none other than you Laugh at me now, I wonder who will laugh at you? ”