Having been born in Nineteen hundred forty-four,
Some say (and rightly so) I'm from "the days of yore;"
Wars were being fought, and the whole world seemed deranged,
Though many years have passed, the world's course has not changed;
But I know I have changed -- now with faltering sight
I search in vain for the dreams that never took flight
I was young once and focused on my golden dreams
Of romance, love, adventure . . . the very same themes
That you dream about, I still dream at this late stage --
So I know how you feel . . . we're on the same page;
Throughout life we reach for the brass ring, but at length
We have to admit we no longer have the strength
I understand now why back then old folks would speak
Of how "the spirit's willing, but the flesh is weak;"
And I yearn for the dawn of my life's yesterday
To once again pursue those dreams that went astray;
But the winds of Time are whispering a simple truth:
It's too late for me now . . . the spoils belong to youth
Jul 26, 2022
Jul 26, 2022 at 2:10 PM UTC
Having been born in Nineteen hundred forty-four,
Some say (and rightly so) I'm from "the days of yore;"
Wars were being fought, and the whole world seemed deranged,
Though many years have passed, the world's course has not changed;
But I know I have changed -- now with faltering sight
I search in vain for the dreams that never took flight
I was young once and focused on my golden dreams
Of romance, love, adventure . . . the very same themes
That you dream about, I still dream at this late stage --
So I know how you feel . . . we're on the same page;
Throughout life we reach for the brass ring, but at length
We have to admit we no longer have the strength
I understand now why back then old folks would speak
Of how "the spirit's willing, but the flesh is weak;"
And I yearn for the dawn of my life's yesterday
To once again pursue those dreams that went astray;
But the winds of Time are whispering a simple truth:
It's too late for me now . . . the spoils belong to youth
