Bon Scott, of AC/DC, for one, Max, WAS wont to roll up his (tartan) cuffs. Trouble was he tried being young for a bit long and pegged out at thirty something on the wrong end of a bottle of Scotch. In a car, I believe. Lost love's haunts still haunt, no matter what your musical preference, I suggest.
Hoo roo,
Bill
On 10/07/2012, at 11:42 AM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Yeats Travestied
>
> [This is no country for late middle-aged men -
> Lawrence Upton]
>
> 'This is no country for middle-aged men,
> the young girls sneering at us,
> as if we're only fit for middle-aged women.
>
> But why are those same middle-aged women
> sneering at us also? those chooks?
> can they read our minds? us middle-aged men!'
>
> *
>
> I speak as one long past middle-age,
> expounding* Eliot Yeats Hardy
> to youngsters who simply weren't ready.
>
> THEY weren't going to wear long pants
> at the beach, let alone roll up the cuffs.
> They took no walks in lost love's haunts.
>
> No, they were surfing, and snuggling in vans,
> dancing under strobe lights under the influence,
> and coolly changing partners.
>
> Snuggling, they'd say, the word's so fusty -
> you can't know what it is to be lusty.
>
> In my next life I shall try being young,
> having missed out first time round,
> dreamy, bookish, in hiding.
>
> Once back in this world, I'll neglect
> all dreams of art and intellect -
> fiery sensual music is all I expect.
>
> But the young, I already detest their music,
> Doesn't it frankly make YOU sick?
>
>
> *I was an ex-Poundian
>
>
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