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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1258841
The old are slow but sharp.
THE SONNET OF THE OLD


Don’t think that I am just a spent out force,
Having nothing worthwhile left within me.
My life might have taken an ageing course.
Age can’t cut a giant to a pigmy.

My hands may shake and my legs may totter.
I may be toothless, my grasp may be weak.
You may think that aimlessly I loiter
Silently as I have nothing to speak.


Rest assured, I observe all that’s around,
With eyes and mind sharp like that of an owl.
In my wisdom, I don’t want to confound
Others by pointing out that things are foul.

My friend, the old may be old in body.
But stout remains their mental rhapsody.



M C Gupta
7 May 2007

© Copyright 2007 Dr M C Gupta (mcgupta44 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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