It is attributed to Shaw,
that youth was wasted on the young,
to which, I have often replied,
that beauty was wasted upon women,
and can life ever give comfort,
before that final pause.
As we have seem to be idle,
youth has sped past us,
ever so swiftly,
racing like wild horses,
there in the desert wsnd,
leaving us stranded,
in a blowing sand storm,
blinded and wandering aimlessly,
as they raced, so far ahead,
clear out of our sight.
To grieve that those years,
which have long ceased to be,
departed, and we wish now,
that they could be enjoyed,
we can reflect on those good moments,
that has to be the cause,
the purpose of our wandering,
in this endless desert of life.
Alas, another flashed has gone by,
as a lighting bolt scatters,
the darkness that enveloped the night,
so quick, and with no remorse,
to see the young colts,
there racing in the Summers storm,
with trails of dust,
laughing and singing up a storm,
this, is the purpose,
of this aimless wandering,
that we have endured in our life,
race youth, race into the far distance,
our joy, is but to see the storm,
of dust that develops in your trail.
