Judge me not, dear lady,
By wrinkled skin and hair of gray,
For sometime,
Fore I came this way,
I was a youth,
And, if be told in truth,
Such bawdy, brawling fellow ne'er
Walked earth nor turned to stare,
At passing maid so fair.
Oh, yes, grandfather now,
The wrinkles on my brow,
Speaking loud against,
The true way my youth was spent.
The supermarket clerk, she smiles so sweet,
At the kind old man.
Oh! She will never meet,
That young man with lass upon each arm,
Succumbing to their lures, not fearing any harm.
No, young soft and curving girl
You know nothing of the world
That has brought this old man in your way
The few gray hairs he has left today.
Though halt and lame with Arthritis' pains
How much I'd love to leap upon,
The horses, boats and planes and trains,
That stopped a moment, and
Beckoned me in silent plea.
"Somewhere adventure waits.
Get on.
We must soon be gone."
There is one train left for me to board,
But it has not reached my station yet.
And if I were a betting man, and
Yes! I AM. You bet.
I know I'll have another round
Of time within the arms
And 'gainst the panting breast,
Of some young lass who wondered how,
Came the gleam in fading eye,
Beneath this wrinkled brow.
Donovan Baldwin