Unyielding

Our legs grow weary,
Our minds more fogged,
Yet we flail and cry
"We were first. We are right. 
We are more. Move aside!"

They refuse, like the band long ago.
Which is of more importance?
The players on the field
Or the band who refuses to yield?

The world changes, dizzies, alarms
And we grasp the other 
to soften the fall.
As tentative as a babe, 
We totter into a new world, 
a new beginning, a new ending for all. 

We collapse, sit and sulk,
Fear and fret,
Not learning history, 
feel regrets, 
not understanding 
We once were the change, 
the change we beget. 

Children laugh and point, 
cajole and critique,
At this, our perfection,
As we counterpoint their beat.

Our soundtracks verify our paths
But, this our best, 
becomes a screeching distortion
to those on the trail behind, 
and fuels their frustration, 
flames their wrath.

Yet our learning, the teaching 
was not for naught.
Granted, they grew up and away
with wings that beat franctic,
Flew them high, and yet they still obeyed.
Their obedience unseen by us from the ground
Where we stand on legs too shaky to be sound.
Too old, too tired, too beaten,
We do aught but sway.

We are blinded by their shrewdness,
their plummage, their melodic meandering. 
The gifters and grifters
refuse to yield; demand to stay.

And as we watch in fascination, they
Join arms, join forces, join voices,
And begin to sing "Here comes the sun!"
And we must cry "Get off my lawn!"