When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
by William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
courtesy of poetry.com
This poem had me thinking, way ahead into the future. What would life be like 50 years down the road? Would I be living in a world full of regrets and confined love? Family, would I have one to call my own? I certainly do not wish to spend my golden years all by myself, isolated from the world around me.
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