Am I suppose to sing praise of the clouds?
Only words of wisdom from my old lips?
Love long soured in my old heart.
Forgotten motion of days long past.
Tell the young to enjoy
What I no longer truly remember.
Sit in silent ponder of days.
Listen to music which raises thoughts
From ashes of days long gone.
Yet still there is beauty in the clouds.
The sweetness of love lingers
Softly on the edges of my heart.
My warning to the young is gentle advice.
My silence brings meditation and quiet with God.
The music gently surrenders the beauty of the past
to my forgetful mind.
Some wisdom does fall occasionally from my lips.