With ageing looks and drooped eyes
The spine bent low with pain agonise
But a pair of hands holds them firm
The son or daughter of their youth confirm
Their fears are drowned by the thoughts
That they may fall and break the pots
But the confidence of their strides can tell
The determination to fight the hell
Amongst the group of haggard looks
There am I in prime of youth
Wondering how to mend my tooth
And all my own that are on hooks
Shuffling through the corridor sharp
Each one moves in at the call
Waiting for the slip so tall
When will my turn come to the harp
The harp gives out a soothing sound
The harp holds my breath unfound
The harp takes care to pat my back
As I walk out with grace, without turning back.
