The wind it blows,

it comes and it goes.

The sun and moon will rise

and fall while in their skies.

Wars will be fought and wars will be won.

Music and dance will all live on.

As time passes each of us by,

we grow old and can no longer fly.

With envy we look at children bold

whose life filled with the fantastic told

and imaganition like an overstuffed attic

and no memories that could be tragic.

If we could but be a little like they

and relearn how to properly play,

us who are old and clean,

will then be young and full of steam.