Grand age, even mere great age,
Is something to be wondered at.
Now that man has reached old age,
He starts to be beyond the bodily
And spiritual sorrows, and all of us
Have thought, at times, beyond hope
And beyond ransom. Is it the strength
Or the weakness of old age, we wonder. . .

He has certainly defied the world and
Has taken a nonchalant attitude toward it,
Which his old age allows him to do.
Having received a share of nature's bounty,
He has clung to his small garden's flowers
And songbirds and hills and dales around
For his inspiration and moral support,
Which alone have kept his heart sound
And whole and prevented him from
Occurring everywhere crisis of faith
And civic degeneration at the height.

He has chosen to live much in the open,
To bask in the sunlight and evening glow,
To feel the touch of the morning dew
And smell the fragrance of mowed down hay
And of the moist earth after the rain.
Thru his poems, thru the poetry of habits of life,
As well as thru the wordsmithing,
He has learned to refresh his, alas,
Too often wounded but still sound soul.

At last he has managed to reach old age
In the same way as a sagely men do
By living much in the countryside and,
Having a great deal of sunlight they bask
In the low-lying vales and fresh air
They absorb in the high mountains at dawn.