Poetry: Childhood and Aging

To be so young — it is to be

Almost yet free of anxiety.

Yes, free and not stressfully

Even knowing how to mourn.


When I was young, I would

Be living, living, living: no cares.

Where would I go? No cares. What would I do? No cares. Who would I meet? Yea, or

With what I live? It mattered not then;

All I did: be with them.

For back then, back when

I knew not pain, I would refrain.

I wanted what life had to offer:

To have some great joy! To be a small boy!

Where did it go? I know not.

What destroyed it? I know not. Comest it back? I know not.

Nay! It will not come back. —


‘Tis gone, it all in all.

’Tis no more, watch it fall.

But I have one thing,

Have it now.

I have this thing,

‘T never goes down.

It’s called peace, it gives rest,

It gives all of life’s dear best.

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