Do not come and ask me of sunset,For I have not seen one,For I have not been one.They came and asked:How about the greying of hair,The fall of tooth,The aching of bones,Is it not sunset?I answered them loud and clear:No, it is not sunset,Because for every strand of grey hair,Every tooth that fell,Every aching of the bones,A new wisdom will come, knocking at our door:Learn anew, it is dawn again. The next time they marched and shouted:How about the faces we forget,The names we cannot recall,The memories that fly away, Is it not sunset?So I answered them louder and clearer:No, it is not sunset.Because for every face, and name,And memory we lost,There is always a new song waiting to be sung, A new poem to be written, To honour all that have gone by.They stomped their feet and screamed:How about those departures of our beloved,Early evening slumber that feels too early,The loneliness of the soul,Is it not sunset?I smiled and answered:No, it is not sunset,For every departure will remind usTo paint a worthwhile legacy,All loneliness and slumber that feels too early,Will be wiped away by a morning prayer,And by a first, small step in the dawn.Ask me not of sunset,For I have not seen one,For I have not been one.