One of my favorite poets is W. B. Yeats . He was a true Irishman and bohemian and wrote some of the most imaginative poetry ever (The lake Isle of Innisfree, When you are Old, the Sorrow of Love). He wrote a lot about the wisdom and the fact of growing old and as of late I have been pondering the exchange of youth and all its angst, neuroses, identity confusion, and anger with the wisdom and peace of aging. It seems that all things of value relate to sacrifice . You must let go of the one to receive the necessary other. This is my favorite of Yeats on getting wisdom with time. I find it comforting.

The Coming of Wisdom with Time

Though the leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may wither into the truth.

The poem says to me that there is one simple source ....one simple truth ...even though there is much superfluity that bombards us in the green years.
In line two the word "lying" can be seen as untruthful or recumbant but I think it means untruthful because of the word "truth" in the fourth line.
So it seems that youth or fruitfulnesss blinds us or distracts us from the 'ROOT" but inevitably we must let go and wither into it.

Lord let me wither gracefully into your truth