Sixty Eight
SIXTY EIGHT
For years I’ve lived with being a soixante-huiter
Although my wardrobe’s more fastidious and neater
Those heady days are not beyond recall
The nights and days when we first did it all
But sober work and ethics have combined
To make a settled bed my truest mind
And catalogues and dictionaries my woe
To understand what happened long ago
Far flung days have their own allurement
But nothing beats the logic of procurement
And adventitious loves have gone the way
Of all youth, to say it’s had its day
I daren’t even call myself a woman sweeter -
Past perfect indiscretions tend to tweet her.
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