Next week, I will again enjoy the opportunity to participate in a talent show for the elderly. On previous occasions, I resigned myself to reading an assortment of English poetry... but this time will be different! ... Okay, okay, I will still read some selections to be sure, but I've decided to read a poem of my own composition, a sort of tribute to those who find themselves in the ebb of their lives.
I composed this poem a few days ago, in anticipation of the upcoming event. As I searched for some inspiration, I couldn't help but to think of my own grandfather, 'Grampy' as we called him. I express gratitude for him, my other grandparents, and the elderly everywhere that, more often than not, are the keepers of great wisdom and experience, love and faith. We are as they once were.
A Word to the Wise
In troubled times, of doubt and fear,
When I’d rather shrink than fight,
The vision of a Face, so dear,
Turns the darkness into light.
‘Twas the image of a man I saw,
His countenance, so sure,
Of youth and dreams and hopes still raw,
A Journey for to endure;
And as I stared into his eyes,
Amidst the shades of Gray,
A feeling gripped me by surprise,
As though to hear him say:
“Scotty me boy, remember this,
When life whirls round us grim:
The only true and simple Bliss,
Lies in giving, not giving in.
For though in life you saw me rest,
A body, aged and spent,
Withal does this portrait attest,
Of my Youth, once exuberant.
Through times of trial, want, and woe,
Whilst war posed to deprive,
My feet I fixed, firm in the row,
The Dream to keep alive;
And for my grit did God concede,
A blest Posterity,
To teach, to cherish, and to lead,
So I suggest, Scotty me lad,
When the day looms dark and dim,
Be steadfast, like your ol’ granddad,
And give, but never give in.”