The Fountain

about comig to terms with aging

In despair from this lost youth
I have dreamt of days departed-
But this slumber filled with tact and truth
kept me broken-hearted.

Ah! Who does not dare to dream?
This impossible dance--
Where time stands still—how it may seem,
Turned back upon the past?

How, I craved the fountain,
While all the world kept turning
I alone climbed the mountain          
--with hope still burning

Oh and when that light did dim
Surely, life dwindled and died
But instead a true beauty vied,
inside old age’s playful whim.