The More We Know

The more we live, the more we know But no one wants to hear it For what we’ve learned from long ago Makes people doubt or fear it. The modern methods serve the young So all our wise conclusions Are seen as quirks to which we’ve clung, Our warnings as intrusions. The irony is as we age We shrug at the rejection For youth can never truly gauge The folly of perfection. Thus we observe and try our best To stop from interfering Since anything we might suggest Won’t be, to them, worth hearing.