A Prayer For the Old Folks
Should a wooden chair that rocks
find my destiny
When the winds of time prevail
in sunset circumstance
And when comes those misty morns
to rest the mood I’m in
May my rocker be laid out with
Vodka, Rum and Gin!
Should a back that whispers ache
find my lips to speak
When the breeze that ushers age
sends the years my way
And when every little pill
has come to my rescue
Let me find and let me care
that one of them is blue!
Copyright © Mike Gentile | Year Posted 2021
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