The youth won’t listen

When a man has had his span
Of three score years and then ten,
And his beard flows old
And his toes grow cold
And he starts to wonder when,
His days in the sun
Will be over and done
And his walk on the road will end.

Then his mind recalls
The climbs and the falls
And the good years spread on the wind,
And he lives again
The days when men
Were discreet about having sinned,
And he utters a cry
And prepares to die
With his hopes on some greater life pinned.

Why that’s when a guy
Can say with a sigh
It’s been long, it’s been hard, now I’m old,
I’ve seen it all
I’ve had a ball
I’ve been timid and rash and bold,
I could tell you now that it’s time to blow
About life’s how what where and when,

But you won’t want to know
So with me it will go
Into that final cold.