At seventeen, the world was wide,
A canvas vast, dreams yet untried.
No wrinkles carved by time or loss,
No tales of love or battles fought.

To be again at seventeen,
Would mean to trade the sights unseen,
The wisdom gained, the lessons learned,
For youthful days and hearts unburned.

Yet fifty years of paths untread,
The laughter shared, the tears we've shed,
These moments built a life unique,
A tapestry of joy and grief.

To wonder if the trade is fair,
To grasp at youth with silver hair,
Is to forget the beauty in,
The years that shape the soul within.

For though the young are filled with fire,
The elder's heart holds deep desire,
A balance struck through time's embrace,
A life well-lived, a gentle grace.

So while the thought may softly creep,
To yearn for youth, a wish to keep,
Embrace the years, both young and old,
For both bring treasures, tales untold.