Oh yes, I’m now old and decrepit,
But neither past it nor fetid.
In no way I’m over and finished;
My ardour still has not diminished.
… ‘COS …
Age has not wearied me yet;
Desire is still with me,
Lust still stirs within me,
I’m a game old codger, you bet!
… SO …
IF YOU WERE MINE
You look divine.
If you were mine
I’d drool and dote,
You’d have my vote.
I’d fire Love’s dart
To win your heart.
That’s not a sin,
I know I’d win.
I’d face the press,
Ignore the mess.
I’d tie you to me
And Lose the key.
With every wish
I’d be selfish.
You’d have to be
Welded to me.
And each new day
Would show the way
To hold love fast,
To make it last.
And every kiss
Would speak of bliss,
Would prove at last
Life had not past.
They say I’m old
And won’t be told;
That love has past,
Dried up at last.
But yet I know
I’d love you so.
Despite my age
I’d take the stage.
You’d be my queen
And reign supreme
Over our peers.
For which three cheers.
So here’s the rub,
The heart, the nub.
What we’d have then
Is our Amen.
‘Twould gave us hope,
Help us to cope
With life, with pain,
To live again.
And when at last
Our time was past,
Our journey done,
We’d be as one.
. . . so . . .
Take a note!
I’m not dead yet,
And, get this quote,
“I’d like to bet
You’ll be like me,
You’ll have a ball
When you can see
Work is not all.”
Roland's Ragbag 