The More We Know

The more we live, the more we know

But no one wants to hear it

For what we’ve learned from long ago

Makes people doubt or fear it.

 

The modern methods serve the young

So all our wise conclusions

Are seen as quirks to which we’ve clung,

Our warnings as intrusions.

 

The irony is as we age

We shrug at the rejection

For youth can never truly gauge

The folly of perfection.

 

Thus we observe and try our best

To stop from interfering

Since anything we might suggest

Won’t be, to them, worth hearing.