I can’t see why it is, my son,
That you and I can not agree;
The things that you consider fun
Seem utter foolishness to me.
Why is it that you fail to feel
That folly should be bravely spurned?
The pleasures that to you appeal
Leave me serene and unconcerned.
You seem to be so very blind
To things that clearly I perceive;
I give you warning, but to find
That you must see ere you believe.
I let no passion urge or sway,
I hold myself in firm control,
But, deaf to all that I can say,
You lightly jeopardize your soul.
Why is it that you will not heed?
Why can’t you see what I behold?
I wonder if it is, indeed,
Because you’re young and I am old.