Bloom of Youth

In summer fields I saw you, A vision of splendor and grace, But like the fleeting flowers, Your beauty will not stay. They call it, "bloom of youth," A poetic phrase of old. But, as your youthful beauty fades, Your knowledge turns to gold. Summer's just a season, and seasons come and go. The more years you are alive, The more you come to know. Although beauty is a tribute With a very pleasant view, Experience honors knowledge; Which wisdom does imbue.