(Image)

 

 

 

Father of My Father

 

When I look at him, I can't see me,

He's much too close to eternity;

His hairs are white, and his head is bald,

He's wrinkled, and his manner is mild.

I'm full of pep, and have no blemish,

While he has lots, and is almost finished;

I'm very young, and he's very old,

I'm so full of fire, while he's gone cold.

 

Son of His Son

 

Son of his son, please look deep and think:

The selfsame waters you both do drink;

Add sixty years to your joints and limbs,

And you'll find you're looking just like him.

You'll have inner peace and wisdom then

From navigating the ways of men;

You'll love your grandson more than yourself,

And will cherish others more than pelf.

 

Your grandpa does not envy your youth—

He enjoyed his own, and yet it's truth,

He wouldn't want to live it again,

He's learned the lessons that come to men.

In sixty years you'll be old and wan,

While he'll have enjoyed a whole new dawn.

If you age your fifteen years by ten,

You can see how he'll be looking then.

 

Poem written about an intriguing picture

found on page 57 of the November 2003 ENSIGN  magazine.