'An aged man's a paltry thing,
an outgrown nettle who's lost its sting.
The sudden changes made in sleep,
the ageing process that runs deep
in rivulets of flakey skin
that flushes youth away.
When amour's spent and passion's burned,
when youthful looks are not returned,
in mirrors on the wall.
When hair hangs grey, and dreams take flight
and one grows frightened of the night
soon departure time will call.
No more skies of crimson gold, no more tales to put on hold,
nowt but the ending of our days, the parting of our ways.'
Copyright: William Forde: February 5th, 2017.