Age

Will I ever grow up?

It's so far away.

Right now, the wind blows

Full in my face.

It doesn't chill my bones, or make me shake.

I run towards it; it brushes by my ears.

Will my eyes ever see—

I can't believe—

Which now look at shadows made by oak leaves,

a bride, a wife, a home, a stack of bills?

My children's and grandchildren's smiles, tears?

Will I always be young?

That cannot be.

My childhood closes,

Soon history.

From dust I came; to dust shall I return.

I pray that God towards me His face might turn.