Where Does Youth Go?

I rediscovered this poem today. I don't remember quite when I wrote it, or why I haven't already posted it on here, because when I found it again I realized that I really like it. Hopefully you will too.

Where does youth go when it leaves?

Age is a creeping and steady corruption,

Escaped by none

Despite all our grasping

At all that we are,

That we were,

That we see slip away.

Or one day awake

And truly, then, see

And regret.

For what’s to be done

When it’s gone?

And where does youth go when it leaves?