Jeffrey Hull

Ah, youth: it’s wasted on the young
   And stolen from the old;
A purse purloined while carefree sung
   Hot lips that soon grew cold.

Ah, age: what wisdom's worth this cost?
   We trade decrepit pain
For trifles, with our passing lost–
   And call the commerce gain.

Ah, beauty: flowers bloom and fade,
   Their saddened petals fall;
And all their former glories weighed
   Will scarcely count at all.

Ah, truth–no two can quite agree;
   Is truth itself a thing,
Or that which eyes pretend to see,
   Beyond real reckoning?


© 2005 Jeffrey Hull

This one spoke forcefully to me, almost in a challenging way. I really liked it. I did wonder about the title. It shifts the reading of it somewhat, doesn't it?

I believe the title is meant ironically.