For A Man Has To Age

The summer breeze blows with despair,
and what often blows back to,
are more stronger gusts with darker musts,
that lack every bit of fair.

It is these summer days and nights,
that fill my mind with sorrow.
And they come and go with little flow,
and leave little lust for tomorrow.

When I was a younger more eager man,
and my heart was filled with hope.
My days and nights and aft's and fights,
were also lacking scope.

It was these nights and longer days,
that made the man I am.
Though none to proud, I say it loud,
for every and all to exam:

Here I lay, for you to hear me say,
that I've had very little success.
And though to speak at all seems far to tall,
to write it out seems best.

When we are young and dream of old,
we seem to think of light,
All the faces that make it hard,
to ever win a fight.

And when we grow we come to know,
that wrong indeed were we,
For now we must with a summer's gust,
commence to beg and plea.

Our grand dreams and lofty schemes,
begin to give great way,
To what we became and the lofty shame,
that shadows us every day.

If aware were we, and ready to be,
something we'd come to hate,
Perhaps with tact and matter of fact,
we'd have changed the course of fate.

The shadow now rests and follows me best,
when my mind is weak and frail.
And however I fend or try to comprehend,
the shadow must always prevail.

So to read this with youth might bare some truth, and save your life it may.
For when it's to late, sealed is your fate, and help it won't to pray.