I was a boy before, who could not wait to be a man,
Always striving to be grown, to be old, to be bold,
As stubborn as the winter cold;
As restless as the hourglass sand.
But as the leaves whitter and the end draws nigh,
What I’ve discovered with age is mundane ,
The things to be finished; life itself- inane ,
I am a man now, who could not wait to die.