The Beauty Of An Old Man

 The beauty of an old man, is the grey upon his head..

It is naught to look down on, but with wisdom to be fed.

Mercy and truth, are the tapestry of life..

And the blueness of their bones, is the honour for a wife.

Every way on their path, is decorated with gold..

In the secret of their salt, lies the words they were told.

The fares of understanding and the garment that they wear..

Divides what is inherited and the swords they might fear.

In the corner of the house top, rests the weary old head..

For awaking at the sunrise, are the cares to be fed.

They are chartered by the Lord, to launch out into the deep..

To reap a mighty harvest and not lay broken as they sleep.

The old men are vessels, to pour into the young..

To train and admonish, all the songs to be sung.

Their dwelling is a haven, as the temple of the Lord..

So thorns and snares, are destroyed with their sword.