Reflections on Aging by Edwin W Truesdale
When my hair is thin and silvered
And my time of toil is through
When I’ve many years behind me
And ahead of me is few
I shall want to sit I reckon
Sort of dreaming in the sun
And recall the roads I’ve traveled
And the many things I’ve done.
I hope there is no picture
That I’ll hate to look upon,
When the time to paint it better
Or to wipe it out is gone.
I hope there’ll be no vision
Of a hasty word I’ve said
That has left a trail of sorrow
Like a whip welt sore and red.
And I hope my old age dreaming
Will bring back no bitter scene
Of a time when I was selfish
Or a time when I was mean.
When I’m getting old and feeble
And I’m far along life’s way
I don’t want to sit regretting
Any bygone yesterday.
I am painting now the picture
That I’ll one day want to see
I am filling in the canvas
That will soon come back to me.
Though nothing great is on it
And though nothing there is fine
I shall want to look it over
When I’m old, and call it mine.
So I do not dare to leave it
While the paint is warm and wet
With a single thing upon it
That I later will regret.
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