An Oldman's Prayer

I am a paling star to be washed out In the dazzling brightness of the arriving dawn As I look back to the prime days I see them flying away in a flurry Like scraps of paper whirling in the gale A dense fog crawls up into my eyes The verdant vistas and smiling faces Have discoloured like weather worn paintings The violet shadows of red rocks Form a dark cave within me Nothing subsists in the dells n' hollows Of my memory I wilt under Age's burning breath And wither under its deadly blight While waiting at the Departure Lounge I now have only one prayer; Don't let me scorn and disdain the young Whose sky is wider and dreams endless Who walk with nimble feet and sure steps To conquer the world that has left me a scrap!