A View From the Heights of Middle Age

I like it when it's raining. I like it when it's not.
I like it when the moon is high or when the day is hot.
I like it when the silver breezes slip across the silent scenes.
I like it when the snow falls up, no matter what it means.

I know the precious secret of the deepest, darkest soul.
I know the hopes and treasures that tragedy and fate both stole.
I know the merits of the light. I know the darkness well.
I know the flower that Paradise unfolds. I know a hundred roads to Hell.

Now tell me, please, of other things, and tell me, please, of more,
And fill my heart with the love of truth, and make my acts my core.
Shake once more the tree of life, and let its fruit fall near,
And do not bother me with built-up lies I do not want to hear.

Let me love the place I'm in. Let me love the day.
Let me love the ones I'm with, and let me stay and stay.
Let me join the ones who like my actions in this love.
And let me keep the views I have, which youth knew nothing of.

I love the days, although they're hard. I love them though they're plain.
I love civilization, though it's strange and sometimes quite insane.
I don't hate time, though ravages of age transformed my youthful grace.
I do love life, and, too, the world, whether holy or unholy place.



by Robert Hampton Burt
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