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Now I might have come to the most difficult time of my life. You see, I feel like a toddler again. I have reached a plateau so to speak. I can say what I want to without considering the consequences people will say it's my age.If I act a little crazy like a teenager perhaps! they say I am in really good shape. If I pay attention to detail and give words of advice to the youngsters they say I am really with it. But best of all I can get attention just like when I was brand new.
To be sure, all ages have their advantages. I didn't want to grow up but I did; I didn't want to grow old but I did. One thing's for sure, I am a whole lot smarter and wiser just like my parents and the following poem says the rest:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.