Precious Silver

[Snufkin]

 

In the fire of youth we cannot conceive, that time will ever end
Yet, sooner is one's youth all spent, than mankind can pretend
When love has bloomed, and friends are past, they count days that remain
And dwell on summers fleeting joy, that may never come again

When memories elude them, and their crown turns silver grey
And the slightest noise outside our walls, can cause them some dismay
When the world diverts attention, away from those of old age
And tries to pacify and stifle, and keep them in a cage

All the world's woes they blame upon, an “Ageing population”
Yet, we all are ageing, and hurl toward, that silent destination
That bitter end, when regret sets in, and love is lost at last
Too late to know, or appreciate, the life that has just passed

Those elderly, the objects, of ridicule and disdain
Treated once again like children, forbidden to complain
Once raised their children, and endured, wars and poverty
With a simple code of kindness, and courteous simplicity

This sad world, which stumbles on, in confusion and in pain
Considers grey hair a curse, and the elderly a bane
But, more than ever do we need, the wisdom of the old
The experience of a lifetime, can benefit our world

Shut away, un-included, hidden from youth's keen eyes
Their grey hair, a grim beacon, of eventual demise
And society parties ever on, and chooses to ignore
The ones who gave them life and love, and opened many doors

Yet, there is one who looks upon, the graying hair of the old
Who will not let the world forget, their story when it's told
He treasures them, of well-worn bones, and misty, dulling eyes
And the crown of grey, their heads display, he sees a silver prize

He asks us to cherish them, and listen to them in all our ways
To honour them, and deem them precious, all their remaining days
For they have loved, and they have lost, and life's bitter lessons learned
Worked hard to try to build the life, for which their children yearned

And He promises a restoration, of all things becoming new
That tired bodies will be refreshed, and energy renewed
That age-afflicted frames will cease, from fears, and aches and pains
And given back their dignity, and made young again

In that day, when justice comes, and loyalty is loved
Those old and wise, who yearn for truth, will be rewarded from above
And eyes that waned and lost their focus, and heart that barely beat
Will find new strength, and be revived, and become complete

When words like “sad”, and “old”, and “death” are no longer spoke
And their lost loves, who fell asleep, are gently then awoke
And minds are sharpened, and cleansed of fear, and no more lies are told
Then their weary heads of tarnished silver, will be turned to gold.

 

[Mike047]

Steve, this is a great poetic work. Is it yours?

[Snufkin]

Yep. Thanks for the positive feedback.

8 minutes ago, Mike047 said:

Steve, this is a great poetic work. Is it yours?

 

[Del]

Your words are so apt.....I am 67 years older grey but wear my grey as a testimony of years well spent...

Your words are so on point....we sometimes feel invisible "caged" by our infirmities and loss of income that restricts freedom of movement...Antiques are valued as priceless....we should be as well....our beloved Father Jehovah is guiding his organisation to recognise our value and worth....your words speak truth....how happy we are for a hope

Thank you.....

[Snufkin]

16 hours ago, Del said:

Your words are so apt.....I am 67 years older grey but wear my grey as a testimony of years well spent...

Your words are so on point....we sometimes feel invisible "caged" by our infirmities and loss of income that restricts freedom of movement...Antiques are valued as priceless....we should be as well....our beloved Father Jehovah is guiding his organisation to recognise our value and worth....your words speak truth....how happy we are for a hope

Thank you.....

You are welcome, dear sister. Enjoy your youth again - very soon.