Age.


Age does upon me creep,
And from my loins testosterone does seep,
So I life prefer to easier take,
As I in the future have a smaller stake.
Thereís less a need to race,
And I can ease my pace.

But though I passing time resent,
I my anger oft relent,
What is done is done,
The way is lost or won,
And so when I at the future gaze,
Iím tempted often just to laze.

But then something deeps inside does stir,
I call again the future sir,
Our nationís ship so clearly is adrift,
I myself must from my slumber lift,
And try sense the helm to grasp,
So all can something solid clasp.

But alas the crew is all asleep,
And I at this truth just weep,
For technology means no oneís going to wake,
Not one the helm will take,
So with the future dawning swift,
Our nationís doomed around to drift.

If I but knew,
What I could do,
Iíd action take,
And this mess unmake.
With sweat Iíd drip,
Trying to the situation grip.

But the world in its electronic daze,
Is lost inside an audio-visual maze,
And through the days does stumble,
Increasingly submerged in jumble.
For destiny our course has set,
Technology its straight-jacket.

So I think Iíll sit with my feet up,
And my Guinness sup,
For in this an end of a universe,
The sights are quite diverse,
And as Iím here in Millieís not alone,
Iím bothered not by no ships home.

---August 19, 2010---

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