Job 32:9

I am not that broken blossom

Drooping in the garden,

Withered, as time and the weather

Gave no grace or pardon.

All of its dreams now perishing,

Its petals line the bed,

Til all that’s standing in the rain’s

A bowed and barren head.

I have the grace to see myself

As more than battered bloom,

For though my body’s breaking down

My soul will beat the tomb

And rise upon the warming breeze,

My blossom’s sweet perfume.

Job 32:9
It is not only the old who are wise, not only the aged who understand what is right.