There’s no-one you can tell…

There’s no-one you can tell…

The indelible mark of wisdom seeps,

Into our knowledge as ageing does creep,

Little things that we once thought trite,

Become so important though forget we might,

To be suddenly awoke and thinking of at night…

But there’s no-one to whom you can tell.

As you grow older, does the world grow colder,

To what learned things you would like to share,

Like the deeper meaning in a trite remark,

That is telling of a personality much more stark,

Than the wonderful they may want to show,

Gives more than a hint of what you intuitively know,

But there’s no-one to whom you can tell.

There’s the life-mistakes you made,

Perhaps a tender love betrayed..no accolade.

A physical injury best avoided to save a living hell,

A pattern in the weather could give better,

Information than a legion of forecasts,

That hurry of ants, cut of winter wind perchance,

Gives clue to the coming season’s fall..

But there’s few would wait to hear you tell.

Old age does have a certain blessing,

In the teaching of such indelible lessons,

That can bring a smile to your lips so well,

When you hear spoken with naive sincerity,

The well-intentioned chant of youthful acrimony,

Damning this or that world-wide atrocity,

That is no more than too often repeated credulity,

That one’s age of accrued wisdom could dispel,

But then…sadly, there’s really no-one to whom you can tell.