Green Pastures

Young enough to experience joy,
Old enough to learn from your mistakes

Trust is a white rose that shrinks with age
As wisdom continues to bloom

We look at the green fields somewhere else
Thinking that the fences are golden

Until we are there and see the weeds
And the chipped wood

We continue this dance of field hopping
Looking for the impossible

Then the day comes that we are too old,
And the green pasture becomes your tombstone.