am getting sick of this injury
Stretching of it turns life into a blur
Arguing least the importance of mundane
Desiring most that which increases tenderness
Ah, to be young, with endless energy
Oh, to be old, with deep-rooted agony
Ah, to be young, with reckless abandon
Oh, to be old, with smothering restraint
Dare I surge heedlessly through life headlong?
Or, cling to youthful scorn of sedation?
To throw away all reason for wildness
For the wallop of springtide puberty?
Oh, I do remember well willfulness
When stall’d in sedate rapidity.
Oh so well put in words , that ache for the youthful energy, when the spirit is still in flight, but the body has gained lead on its legs.
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