The grey hairs of old age,
Speak of warmth, wisdom and worth,
Tiding over winds from,
The east, west, south and north.
Parched by the scorching summer heat,
They never did accept defeat,
Knowing that their youthful feet,
Would soon clamor for resting sweet.
With the pattering of rain,
They did not seek any shelter vain,
Soaked to their skin,
They toiled for their beloved kin.
Braving the harsh winters,
There never were any whimpers,
Awhile providing for their nestlings,
Amidst all life’s rumblings.
Their springs and autumns,
Never fetched them breaks,
From caring and bearing,
For their munchkins – dear darlings.
As the seasons pass by,
With the fading of the glow,
They become too slow,
And for some it indeed is a massive blow!
Leading tiny hands,
Once they watched the dog and pony show,
Clutching on to lifeless staffs now,
They simply feel the cool breeze blow.
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