By Profe Steve
When the spark has gone out of my eyes And my hair has turned to gray,
Will you still watch with me the sunset skies And hear what I have to say?
When my steps become unsteady and slow, My arms have lost their power,
When my face is lined and creases show, Will you still see a fresh-bloomed flower?
Years flow down the river of our days And steal away our youthful glow,
Tears and smiles write hymns of praise Of time’s cruel ebb and flow.
So when the dew has left the bloom And its beauty fades to dust,
In your life will I still find room, To shelter from time’s icy gust?