Anne Scott Musil's "Youth" is spoken by an older generation looking at the young people who will take over from them. The speaker admits that what we pass on is a messy mix: "debris," insights, skyscrapers, wars, even "vulgar croons." We hope to leave behind greenery and symphonies, but we leave our flaws too, mostly without noticing.
The speaker feels a tired kind of tenderness, mixed with guilt. The older generation tries, through work, protest, gardens, poems and meditation, yet the poem doesn't pretend that is enough. The young face a harsh world of "savage cults and bombs," ads and speeding traffic, with little protection. They also pick up our cravings, our guilt and our sneers, and each of them gulps, dodges or grasps them.
The ending turns the generations into a day. Our "summer" cools and darkens, while the young suddenly rise into a "new loud reaching noon." The mood is sober but not hopeless, with a quiet handing over of the light.