Everyday old memories cease and fade,
their creators slow to forget and pass away.
Generations of wisdom are daily unmade
as I lament for our dying elders.
It's sad how a spirit dulls with age,
a life's flame cooling to solemn dignity.
Time and experiences produce a sage,
yet in the end the reward is death.
Many secrets are taken to the grave,
our ancestors' knowledge buried in oblivion.
Too little can we preserve and save,
too much lore never to be remembered.
Dim lights are snuffed out by darkness,
their true sparks forever lost to history.
Whispers echo not in a silent abyss,
past thoughts are now but dreams.
Yet hope remains in futures still to be,
they shall listen and learn from their seniors.
Whispers become voices resounding in eternity,
past thoughts become dreams made real.
Everyday old memories cease and fade,
their creators slow to forget and pass away.
Generations of wisdom are daily unmade
as I lament for our dying elders.
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