Knowing the hardness of living

Yet grieving not for the tears,

Recalling the brightness of boyhood,

Recounting the passage of years,

Not as a cynic and bitter,

Not as an all wise man,

But perceiving deep within me

As only the old ones can do,

The meaning of life, and it's groping

For truth, and the things of the heart,

And that dreams and the face of doing

Are worlds and worlds apart.