When an old man gets to thinking of the years he's traveled through, <br />He hears again the laughter of the little ones he knew. <br />He isn't counting money, and he isn't planning schemes; <br />He's at home with friendly people in the shadow of his dreams. <br /> <br />When he's lived through all life's trials and his sun is in the west, <br />When he's tasted all life's pleasures and he knows which ones were best, <br />Then his mind is stored with riches, not of silver and of gold, <br />But of happy smiling faces and the joys he couldn't hold. <br /> <br />Could we see what he is seeing as he's dreaming in his chair, <br />We should find no scene of struggle in the distance over there. <br />As he counts his memory treasures, we should see some shady lane <br />Where's he walking with his sweetheart, young, and arm in arm again. <br /> <br />We should meet with friendly people, simple, tender folk and kind, <br />That had once been glad to love him. In his dreaming we should find <br />All the many little beauties that enrich the lives of men <br />That the eyes of youth scarce notice and the poets seldom pen. <br /> <br />Age will tell you that the memory is the treasure-house of man. <br />Gold and fleeting fame may vanish, but life's riches never can; <br />For the little home of laughter and the voice of every friend <br />And the joys of real contentment linger with us to the end.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-an-old-man-gets-to-thinking/
