(“Once could the Morn’s first beams, the healthful breeze,
All Nature charm, and gay was every hour: - But ah!..”
“Pain” by S. T. Coleridge)

If you can still partake of, feel the breeze
Which brings in waves the freshness of the air,
And find within yourself a joy that lingers there,
No stranger yet to youth you are at least.

But when the pain inside your soul assails
And in your eyes life’s color gets so dim,
Each stressful night makes any prospect grim,
Now that you’re old, tell, what’s the point of wait?

You sound less joyful, no more zest, no fire,
No friends, whose company adorned much younger days,
They're gone, only a few of them remain,
No love is left, just poetry to kindle soul with lyre.

So what’s to gain by waiting through the nights?!
There's neither joy in olden age, nor much delight!