Painting The Picture

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 -- from Aiken Drum (Inspiretoday@topica.com) ]