I cannot compose brilliant poems, sonnets, or verses,

and I cannot speak to you in Latin or Greek;

I cannot move you with any language made up by man.

Love is the only only language I could touch you with

If you only knew how much I could love you.

If you knew I love you;

If I were brave enough to tell you at all.

I'm not ready to go, just yet,
let me stay a little longer;
I'm not that old you know,
perhaps a bit less stronger.
But my mind, it's still alive,
sharp as a tack... (I think);
I have many things to do,
that will keep me in the pink.
Old age is but a state of mind,
I have pleasant memories;
the years have been but kind,
(tho' I've sailed on troubled seas).
Let me leave when I am ready,
I will fight the dying light;
I'll be wary of the coming storm,
and the never-ending night.
Let this life keep right on rolling,
like the pages of some book;
content with passages of time,
for the world, one long last look.