In thy middle years, a soul can dwell,

even at forty-seven, a number so fine.

I’m not old, nor young, the stories tell,

at the point age and youth intertwine.

Thus far I’ve lived with seasoned grace,

gaining wisdom over those erratic years.

With lines etched upon thy earnest face,

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brought on by laughter, joy, and tears.

While thy youth's vigor has taken flight,

lessons are taught and rewards redeemed.

Yet in our stead always lies a steady light,

and in their wake, dreams are streamed.

Thy heart still beats with a fervent fire,

as many dreams and hopes still aspire.