By Mory Keita
When ye shall grow old from old ages,
In thirty falling seasons of leafy days,
Ye shall not be whom ye desire,
Under leaves yer soul shall grow old too:
In summer ye shall walk under falling leaves,
Seeking yer old self under breezy winds,
But ye shall not find muse in its beauty,
For yer summer days shall grow old too.
In winter ye shall walk under falling snow,
Ye shall be alone in cold days in a coat,
Alas! cold shall whelm yer endurance,
For yer bones shall grow old of old days.
Beware of old ages, live yer youth in warmth,
For ye shall never live these days once more.