Course to the sunset of time,
With these grey hair of mine,
A wreath of ashen knowledge,
Devoid of a romantic quest;
Won't it be quite astringent,
The taste of loveless feats,
And dwell in lone hardships,
Without the half of heartbeats?
Seek love while you were young,
But dare not to play with fire,
Love is spice valued more than gold,
Sweet yet more fatal than any weapon mold.
Search love early like the dawn,
And dwell in it with faithfulness,
That ashen wreath will soon to come,
Yet love makes you a younger man.
©poet_drey
P