My Indulgence

Man's last leg is hue and cry! When baby he is man is the honey pot; His forebears love him for what he will be. When man is man he is a toast of all; The World craves for him for what he can do. But man's last leg stinks like rotten egg, Like a leaked orange he is confined to dustbin. His tears matter no more now he has nothing to offer. Weep no more man your care is now my indulgence. I shall build for you a castle in the town square, Where with all your pairs you shall play with joy. I shall cut your hair in due time and bath you in lavender and rosemarry. I shall be your antenna when strolling side by side in the river bank And you shall return to a table set with cake and coffee. I shall cut new teeth for you to chew and keep your frame And massage you left and right when your body aches. I shall play for you the old tune you love to hear And set before you the album of your sweet time past. Cry no more man your qualitative life now is my indulgence. When you puke like baby I will wash your with hissop. I will dress you with pant and pampers to contain your drops. I will pat you at back and allay your fear. I shall conform with you in totality you have right to be old. I shall respect your rights you are by no means less human. Jan 29th,2015.