There is a charm in growing old,
A grace the young can never hold.
In youth, life burns with fleeting fire,
Yet folly fuels each vain desire.
Impetuous, you rush ahead,
Too blind to heed what wisdom said.
But time will turn the restless tide,
And grant the gift of peace inside.
With age, you see beyond the play,
Foresee the end, the fate, the way.
No longer hoping luck will call—
You know what comes will come to all.
You stand with dignity and grace,
No need for lies to save your face.
No blame you cast, no hate you sow,
You take what is and simply know.
For age holds beauty, pure and bright,
No wish to trade for youth’s delight.
A whisper of what might have been,
Yet peace with all that life has seen.
There is a sharm in growing old..
© Copyright: Михаил Корсунцев, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125021101740
Свидетельство о публикации №125021101740
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