"may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile"
-e. e. cummings, c. 1938

This poem means more to me every time I read it. Sometimes I think cummings writes just for the sake of putting words on paper, but this poem offers us a little glimpse of his genius. I couldn't pick just a line or two because every line works so well with the next. On the threshold of aging, cummings fears replacing his lust for life and nature with drab intellect: "whenever men are right they are not young".

Youth, being "open to the little birds who are the secrets of living," is a life of inquisition, hunger for experience over impersonal information. To him, age is just a number; as long as we're never satisfied by sitting inside, we will always remain young.