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
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
They cannot their life's path choose
But they may either win or loose.