Past My Heyday
For fifty years I went to work
Minimum wage; was I a jerk
I'd slave away every day
Bus ride home, eat, hit the hay
Now a new life has opened up for me
Doing something I can hardly believe
Waking up, I go outside; gaze at the grass, sky and trees
Thus fortified, I head back in and write poetry
It'll never pay the bills, but there are no bills to pay
Only one complaint ~ I keep on hitting the hay
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