Not yet Dead but Buried

 

A disc jockey once said

"a rave from the grave"

"a revive forty five"

as the turn table began to spin

and the music blared into life

 

Those of seventy years or more are written off

a generation of little or no value

has beens

They are told they live in the past

the time has come to listen to the present

The voices of youth are the dreams of the future

The oldies have had their day when they held sway

Let them collect their pensions and call it a day

 

They sit in God's waiting room

reading a copy of "Those Twilight Years"

Banished to wheel chairs and frames

polishing their medals till dawn

Some can barely remember their name

It is the future that counts

let them reminisce and day dream

they are the burden of our latest seam

 

Inside their grey and caulifower heads

behind their leathery and wrinkled skin

As they totter about in their greenhouses

and fill waiting rooms with sundry ailments

It is these old items of baggage

who have sustained this nation

Within their ancient frames

lie wisdom and experience unparalleled

They are gold mines of knowledge

and have lived through grief and joy

years of plenty and years of famine

 

In the elderly we have a valuable resource

men and women, professional and skilled

who are still able to make a valuable

contribution to the world of today

and influence the future

Yet they are piled on the scrap heap 

of life in decay

Or are they are a reservoir waiting to be tapped?

They, of many years can enlighten today's age

Forget them and you ignore an abundance of wisdom

to your eternal regret