Ode to an aging GIT !
Now old enoughTo grow a beard,
The poxy things turned grey.
The smile I had
I'd never feared
It would start to decay.
The perfect banter
From silver toungue,
Infatuates the wife.
When spoke to someone younger
they say"Old man
Get a life!"
Now trendy clothes
I can afford,
The smartest of apparrel.
They just look better
On a six pack stomach,
Not draped over a barrel.
The curly locks
Of dark brown hair,
Were with me when I started.
But as my life's
Gone marching on,
The bastards all departed.
And looking in
The mirror now,
I feel I'm in disguise.
The wrinkled face
Thats staring back
I hardly recognise.
My arse, now fat
Not small and pert,
And by the women fancied.
Is frowned upon
Like shoddy goods,
The cream thats now turned rancid.
But should I change
This hulk of mine
To attain the perfect form ?
Or should I
Keep on partying
And just weather the storm?
Poetry by stevelee
Read 840 times
Written on 2007-03-03 at 11:37
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la tristesse |
normalil |
Individuality |