MY prow is tending toward the west, <br />Old voices growing faint, dear faces dim, <br />And all that I have loved the best <br />Far back upon the waste of memory swim. <br />My old world disappears: <br />Few hopes and many fears <br />Accompany me. <br /> <br />But from the distance fair <br />A sound of birds, a glimpse of pleasant skies, <br />A scent of fragrant air, <br />All soothingly arise <br />In cooing voice, sweet breath, and merry eyes <br />Of grandson on my knee. <br />And ere my sails be furled, <br />Kind Lord, I pray <br />Thou let me live a day <br />In my new world.<br /><br />Irving Browne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-new-world/
