When I Get Old Enough

What I see now makes me think

If I getting older makes me see things

As I was told

And I ponder again and again

words… words…

Yes! we use them at whim

But then, we will grow to see

What we have built with our word

Just like the tree and its seed

So are we and our words

Good words are like silver and gold

I guess that is why we gather them unconciously

Passing it on to the hungry ears

 

 

I went to the funeral of a “dearest one”

It was a familiar scene

The old woman; the very wise one

Up and down she paced, churning words deligently

Right before us

As she spoke, a vivid picture of the dearest is paited before us

For those who have ears; only but a few

And again tears rolled down a familiar path

Raising words on the forgone path

One thing is this and the other that

words cannever be lost; it is just us..

One day fate will take you back a forgone path where you will arouse some forgone words

And may be…

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