On a spring day
Girls in short dresses
Progress by.
Old men sigh
Finding their mind
Turn to past progress
And the truth
That youth
Is fleeting as flowers.
On a spring day
Girls in short dresses
Progress by.
Old men sigh
Finding their mind
Turn to past progress
And the truth
That youth
Is fleeting as flowers.
As I
Grow older, I
Doze more
In my armchair.
I wonder
When and Where
I will die.
My coffee grows cold,
And I old.
And here I sit
Playing the wit,
Until death calls time
On wit
And rhyme.