Random Thoughts

RANDOM THOUGHTS

The trouble with me is -- I'm not really old.

Seventy, last birthday , Alzheimers' On-Hold.

I take myself a walk and I see what I see ,

No silver spumed tides, broken shored on Tralee.

Only stone paved paths -- tarmac roads unexplored .

Square footed gardens where distant horizons I'd known.

Contented now the mad race has been run ,

Hard earned this place in a winters' sun .

So I pretend to be better than really I was .

Unseeding wild schemes afore a world so fettered .

Endlessly exaggerate my minor successes .

Rave about girls in flower-print dresses ,

to the praise and applause of those unaware ,

of my little flaws .

And should my thoughts turn towards

a rollicking good fight ,

that bloody Social Worker still visits

-- every damned Friday night !

* * *

A Rostov 2001