50 Years

I had hopes then, when I was no older than ten,

I thought wings would sprout my back,

And up high I would part the whishing rack,

And live in a storm among the smouldering black,

Those were my hopes then, when I was no older than ten;

I still had hopes a-plenty, when I was no older than twenty,

I thought many years I had with dreams I could try,

I could try them all, for youth, had time to spry,

All the inventions and dreams of mention that might fly,

Those were my hopes, my hopes plenty, when I was no older than twenty;

That time I lived murky, when I was no older than thirty,

So many dreams I had—had since aged,

And dry the wellspring where my dreams had played,

And a war with my youth and the times had I waged,

When my life had gone murky, when I was no older than thirty;

My longing dreams lived shortly, when I turned the age of forty

That age the dreams went adrift,

From my bed asleep my bones could hardly lift,

This heavy abode that is reluctant of the past and perpetually rift,

Those longing dreams now living shortly, when I reached the age of forty;

Now I live mournfully, at the wise lock of fifty,

My dreams had left in hiding since my youth,

And I look back at the desperate truth,

That my dreams aged into nothingness, when old are lost the hopeful roots,

And since then a trampling reality, as I age mournfully as the years go by;

And since then I had passed the age of fifty;

And since then all my dreams passed me by