I Write Poetry
Too Young to stay but too Old to cast away.
Like time ticking quickly but you know it is here to stay.
No wonder Old sport....
We fall in the middle of the dream...
Too late to guess it's start and too early to know the theme.
It is beautiful as it is but we seek to see more.
It is colorful and shiny but we know things will revert as before.
We never minded being there....
We were happy with childish plays.
Too Young to value life too old to waste the glamour.
I think that Age had it different ways.
Playing with feelings, thoughts and dreams that devour.
We will cling with wind to reach the highest cloud.
We will write our names with letters of gold.
I remember you say that always and loud.
But I laughed when you said we are never old.
And Now Old sport.....
We close our eyes to see the beauty we lost
Inhale the same wind we wished to cling
Maybe it can take us back to the days we loved most.
Or repeat our dreams in the words we sing.
Like time ticking quickly but you know it is here to stay.
No wonder Old sport....
We fall in the middle of the dream...
Too late to guess it's start and too early to know the theme.
It is beautiful as it is but we seek to see more.
It is colorful and shiny but we know things will revert as before.
We never minded being there....
We were happy with childish plays.
Too Young to value life too old to waste the glamour.
I think that Age had it different ways.
Playing with feelings, thoughts and dreams that devour.
We will cling with wind to reach the highest cloud.
We will write our names with letters of gold.
I remember you say that always and loud.
But I laughed when you said we are never old.
And Now Old sport.....
We close our eyes to see the beauty we lost
Inhale the same wind we wished to cling
Maybe it can take us back to the days we loved most.
Or repeat our dreams in the words we sing.
