50. Soon to be 51.
The year
Is here
And soon gone.

I cough in the early morning.
A warning?
Probably not,
But soon the year will be gone
And I shall reach the age of 51,
How many more have I got?

Young women
Will still
Laugh at my humour,
But grinning
Is not sinning
And ’tis no rumour
That I grow old.

Gold
May, they say
Buy
Much more than a smile
From a pretty maid
But the eye
Of lust
Must turn to dust
Once our part is played.