I am old,
Too many sights have my eyes left unseen.
Too weary are the ones shown to be so hateful and damned.
Too many songs have my ears left unsung,
not because I can’t sing, I can.
Too many are the words I have wanted
to sing at your feet, but you’re gone.
Too many sounds have my ears left unheard…
wailing are the ones in my dreams I hear.
Yet, in all respect I must admit
Being old has taught me who GOD is…The Great I am.
Maybe when you’re seventy you will find the time to remember,
How lonely my fingers were
Pulling you to my side of the bed on cold snowy white nights.
Oh yes, winter dreams are like escaping breath,
When you find out as you wake up…the question.
Was I dreaming again?
And your fear is opening your eyes to find the dream disappears.
How much time do I have to love once more?