Old

Like a proud old Oak grown tall and wide,

With twisted arms hung low and long.

Or old malted whiskey held high on a shelf,

Sweet amber glow held in and undrunk.

And those deep, grizzled voices so smoothly do sing,

Of heartfelt beauty, of love’s sweetest sting.

Most things like these a man must earn,

A loyal, true friend, to have is like gold.

These things we truly keep, they all are old.