Not A Task For Old Men.
Too late.
Too Quick.
No More.
Had I only known.
A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
Left with the mistaken belief that
I may approach their skill,
I pick up the beast,
Throw the drones over my shoulder,
Reach for the chanter and try to follow
In their footsteps.
Too late.
Too late.
Only the young should pursue this folly.
It’s not a task for old men.
Mastery takes time,
More time than allotted to old men
To train those wicked fingers
To obey and do it quickly.
Too quick.
Too quick.
Fingers are bent in arthritic hooks.
And the lungs to drive it all?
Once upon a time
I could fill the bag, strike it
To bring the drones to order
All in a single breath.
No more.
No more.
Shall I begin again?
And where to begin?
An old man at the chanter table.
Fresh young faces and nimble fingers,
Watching my infirmities
Overtake me.
Hearing my vain attempts
To follow.
My time has passed.
Had I only known.
Had I only known.