It's in old age, my dad would always say, That who a person is most clearly shows. They're like the trees whose petals, pastel-pink, And vibrant summer leaves have disappeared In one brief autumn blaze, and when the last Dried leaf has floated slowly to the ground, Winter reveals the essence of each one. Many are gnarled, their branches twisting in, But some stand tall and straight, flinging their arms Upwards to God against a reddening sky.
Thou mayst in me behold
Thou mayst in me behold
Thou mayst in me behold
It's in old age, my dad would always say, That who a person is most clearly shows. They're like the trees whose petals, pastel-pink, And vibrant summer leaves have disappeared In one brief autumn blaze, and when the last Dried leaf has floated slowly to the ground, Winter reveals the essence of each one. Many are gnarled, their branches twisting in, But some stand tall and straight, flinging their arms Upwards to God against a reddening sky.