Poetry

Old Age Is Youth

Old age is youth, just slightly older,
a ripe apple picked in paradise,
a love that grows even deeper,
like roses blooming in the garden of life.

Old age asks no one for permission,
it pushes its way wherever it goes,
sometimes it may sound a little harsh,
but here no sadness will ever grow.

Old age is youth, just slightly older,
with sunshine, with rain and storms above,
more mature in thoughts and in words
than hands once wounded by roses of love.

Old age will never ask if it may come,
it was never made for the weak or afraid,
if you cannot help your own heart,
then think of the final journey ahead.

Old age is youth, just slightly older,
boiling with mature delight,
without shame and without illusion,
lifted by wings still rising in flight.