When bones do creak and fingers freeze
And movements cease and eyesight leaves
When memory old trumps memory new
When I am old and slow to do
Old friends have gone, save but a few
And they are frail and cannot chew
When time it speeds along a track
I scarce have time to pause, look back
On actions past, too late to rue
On what I was, was not to do
Then I will know that time has come
To tie loose ends and make a plan
For I am come to where we go
And no more harking to and fro
I strode decisively along?
Alas I was more often wrong
And what I did and didn’t do
Is but the past, a fading brew
Of good and bad and in-between
Too late, fear bocht, the past is past
So soon, I’ll lay down on my bed
And go where one goes when one’s dead.