Hurrah For Growing Old Poem by Christian Muller

Oh why must I grow old? Is not the bliss
Of youth a better place to end the show?
Old Hera take me by the hand and kiss
My soul as you did Biton kiss. So I may go
At peak of youthful life. What fool finds glee
With constant pain, grey hairs and wrinkled skin?
All they can do is cough and moan to free
Themselves of age. Till they can welcome in
The patient hand of death. But my love you
Could lift me from my fall. You'd eas'ly make
The grey of setting skies the fairest hue.
What be the knock of death to softest quake
Of your heart 'gainst mine own? There will unfold
No better life if I with you grow old.