Oh, how her heart doth swell when she tells
How she beholds the very young, the very old
A newborn child coming into the world,
An older person whose life is unfurled.
One's eyes to behold for the first time
The bright new world around;
The others, to close the passing
Of the profound.
Are they not both miracles of Love;
Made in his image, upon this earth to trod?
One walks on earth with head held high
Up to the sky;
The other handing low, faded memories
To behold.
Can they say which way they choose to trod;
Would they claim what is yet to come
Or delight in all they have done?
Who is to say what may come in
Another day;
They cannot their life's path choose
But they may either win or loose.