Too Old to Live, Too Young To Die
Why should I write my numbers down?
Nobody writes off Nature in the Spring.
Yet spring follows Winter - when all is dead,
When all is dead and sleeping.
Why should I count the years in serial,
When it's just a collection of Springtimes?
Why not accept that Spring follows Winter?
When all is dead, it comes around again.
Why should I not think of my years
As a tree? Grows tall, sleeps, then flowers.
Spring follows Winter, it's all there to see -
Green comes again, inevitably.
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