Old Ones. A poem.

I wonder what the old ones think
When they see young eyes upon the brink
Who tell them what they think they know
Ignoring the wisdom of their growth

Do they roll their eyes, nod and smile
Do they walk a metre, like we walk a mile
Wiling away their remaining days
Waiting for a stage on which to play

I wonder what the old ones feel
As the new young rise and supersede
With their new ideals and platitudes
Technologies and attitudes

I wonder what the old ones think
And if they’re proud, or if hearts sink
Because it wasn’t much easier, then
When they were young, before time caught them

I wonder what the old ones think.

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