Time will remember us, eventually
and we will whither, creak and moan
Two oaks surrendering to the oncoming storm.
But in this stolen moments let us be youthful.
Let us rejoice in the colours,
in the sun, moon and stars
without trying to understand them.
Let us chase the wind,
without worrying about our tired knees.
Let us embrace,
and forget those that have come before.
Let our hair hold no grey.
For we can be young again