Dusk is falling.
In the autumn of my year
And the chatter of the magpie
Ponder on days of yore.
Of this dark bird
By those who walked this self-same track.
The evening is chill
But I will
Not turn back
For melancholy is a precious part
Of the human heart,
And those who forever laugh
Do not comprehend
That every path
Must reach its end.
I hear children playing in a garden close to the park.
‘Tis a happy sound after the cawing of the crows.
Are not so stark
For not all dreams shatter
And something of what is precious may survive.
I am told
That one is getting old
When policemen look younger than you.
I’m sure that’s true
But when girls say
In a friendly sort of way
That their dad has the same interests as you,
Then what is a guy to do
Other than smile and accept
Up on him like a thief in the bleak night
And that although he may, in the company of young women delight
For the purposes of love or lust
Engage with women of a similar age
Young ladies desire
A grey haired sire.
If he have money it may be so …!