A POEM FOR THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING
Darling, I am growing old
I fear my story's almost told
My knees are sore, my eyes are dim
I struggle daily at the gym.
It's too late now to mend my ways
All I can do is count the days.
But while my brain is still performing
I'll keep my daily musings storming.
No matter what my critics say
I know they read me every day.
Though some might hang me from a tree
The world has room for blokes like me.
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