When You are Old

[namuras]

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

- William Butler Yeats

I feel old after today. This may be my last entry ever into this journal, but who knows, perhaps the urge to add another poem will return at some future date. For now this is the last.

At least, I got to read a really good book this weekend. If anyone is interested, I highly recommend John Irving's _A Widow for One Year_.