Middle Age Blues
I used to be in love with a teenager,
And fondle her up thrusting lovely breasts,
The twine fountains of honey, I can wager
Are now, some infant’s soft and cozy nests.
Our smothering and exploring long embraces,
Which made the fleeting moments, faster go,
Were like the branding irons leaving traces,
While moments rustled on, a tip-toe.
Tentative, flaming , hurried, furtive glances,
And frenzied, inexperienced, stolen kisses,
One can not forget, though this life advances.
In mellowed middle age one doubly misses,
The raging fires of youth, which one remembers,
And often loves to stroke the buried embers
