Midlife

Midlife Crisis, or so they say They call it this when grown men play They buy shiny cars and fly in planes They chase young women to dull their pangs They hang in packs and tell their lies And find no truth in empty eyes They take great voyages to find the truth Yet no one gets wet in the fountain of youth They color hair and wrinkle not But time comes forth, although not sought And Time, my friend, is an unbeaten foe Rolling you over in its under-toe The battle lost, they bow their heads Father time sets the hour glass next to their beds And in the end , they remember this That time well spent is time of bliss