The gastric gents in the old folk’s home
Cope with life to a tolerable degree
And the widows with sagging mouths of foam
Always looking out, but they never see
The end of the long and much winding road.
They’ve never been closer to it than now,
Never been farther from what life’s bestowed.
But who are they, after all, to allow
Such a thing as the threat of mortality
To mar their brief encounter with this verve?
They had one chance to exploit vitality
And so instead they choose to preserve
The immortal spirit which they once possessed.
They remember it now, that youthful unrest.
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