Being young, 21

Being young, 21, is everything

For wisdom does not come with age

Only tired bones and fade

And maturity means accustomed to

The crumbling of a once great temple, you

Invisible now, featureless, faceless

That’s the rub of the wrinkly skinned

Who live in seaside towns, with mothballs twinned

And all this whilst the beautiful people

Run like gazelles, screw like rabbits, have such delicious fun

God, it’s just not fair, though once I was there

In the class of being young, 21

Being old, having a layer of mould, is disgusting

Grandpa in the garden smiling, pottering

With his ugly brood, screeching, hollering

I’ll leave to poppets and dears with leaky bladders

Who pee themselves and fall off ladders

So, young man, please get blind drunk for me

Do excess like there’s one day left, for advancing years

Bring only scraps of happy, but no few tears

Don’t listen to elders, sit at their slippered feet

Run like gazelles, screw like rabbits, stretch out in the sun

And I’ll cheer from afar, still a member at heart

Of the class of being young, 21