At the Age of Ninety

At the age of ninety Time is scarce, But memories plenty! Beneath the wizened face, The mind reflects, On the many defects, Of the journeys past, Moments that did not last, Memories that are distant, Of voices that now are silent, The childhood that was, That knew no laws, Youth that had no fear, That rebelled it’s peer, And in the process lost, All that was dear, Moments that cannot Be restored, Stories that cannot be retold, Now In silence and ignored, By the offsprings She adored... Not land, not gold! No! not even a treasure trove! All She wants Is a hand to hold A few king words of love.