The Days of Old

When I now look out far over the hills, 
Fondly remembering the days of old; 
I see snow on the ground, and my mind fills 
With the numbness of twenty winters’ cold. 
I reflect upon the happiest times; 
Sitting in the sun with my closest friends, 
But as we age, our faces fill with lines; 
Like trees turning bare after summer ends. 
The harsh wind blows, it leaves our cheeks glowing; 
Breaking from an innocence that won’t last. 
Hairs start to grey and we begin growing 
Increasingly frail as time travels past. 
Moments we keep for the rest of our lives, 
Preserving reminiscence that survives.