When my hair is thin and silvered,

And my time of toil is through;

When I've many years behind me,

And ahead of me a few;


I shall want to sit, I reckon,

Sort of dreaming in the sun;

And recall the roads I've traveled

And the many things I've done.


I hope there'll be no picture

That I'll hate to look upon;

When the time to paint it better

Or to wipe it out, is gone.


I hope there'll be no vision

Of a hasty word I've said

That has left a trail of sorrow,

Like a whip welt sore and red.

And I hope my old age dreaming

Will bring back no bitter scene

Of a time when I was selfish,

Or a time when I was mean.


When I'm getting old and feeble,

And I'm far along life's way,

I don't want to sit regretting

Any bygone yesterday.


I am painting now the picture

That I'll want someday to see,

I am filling in a canvas

That will soon come back to me.


Though nothing great is on it,

And though nothing there is fine,

I shall want to look it over

When I'm old, and call it mine.


So I do not dare to leave it

While the paint is warm and wet,

With a single thing upon it

That I later will regret.

~Author Unknown~

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Midi: At This Moment by MARGI HARRELL
Used with Permission