Middle Age


What a world, if all were young or old
With no middle aged, none in between
Tensions would be of a different kind
Big generational gaps one would find
Reaching maturity, the strangest scene
A sudden ageing and feeling the cold

But there might be a strange alternative
No jump in age, just premature expiry
And for those of more advanced years
A youthful renaissance, bringing tears
Strange events scribbled in one’s diary
Yet glad of an extended chance to live

Such weird powers somehow at work
Filling the world with a youthful breed
Lost concepts of another generation
Defying any and every explanation
But what of the trend, an end indeed
Any rationale lost in the mist and murk

Could there really then be nobody left
Reversed ageing means fewer alive
Or maybe the cycle might start again
A graveyard exodus, a human train
Re-animated, now destined to survive
In a woven tapestry, the warp and weft

But on such imaginings, turn the page
Never could there be such a revolution
What would it be without a working life
Is it really long years of stress and strife
Like tearing up the theory of evolution
Be satisfied with decades of middle age