• The old poet sits in his study and writes,
    Invoking the Muses and goddess of rhyme!
    His memories of the past and the realities of
    things, -
    Makes him wonder about the unborn future, -
    as he pauses to think;
    While thoughts clamor in his mind to pour
    out in ink!
    He has seen a few generations grow with time,
    While writing about them in verse and rhyme!
    They remain too busy to pause and think, -
    About the prayers and sacrifices of their elderly
    Like the Autumn leaves now the old must fall,
    And our children have no time to bother at all!
    But what they do all forget, that the generation
    they have now beget,
    Will find them outdated and worn out one day,
    Like those faded jeans they are wearing today! *