It Was..

Mike Bell/ March 4, 2016/ 0 comments

Old friend, you are now aged fifty-two,
a wonderful place to embrace the view:
A whole (long) year ahead of me,
For just a month (in honesty):

Reflect, briefly, time’s ‘whinged-chariot’,
or accept this life, our winged-allot:
Life in the fifties, with God in sight,
We men weigh-up, stand, and fight:

Cruel dictat, of gravity and beer,
will loosen belts, off hips, I fear:
But as we strive, to put food on the plate,
we should recall what made us ‘great’:

Interest and passions – kept us awake,
intrigues and fashions – were our mistakes;
cars and fags, blowing cash on brands,
looking for life, in beer-gripped hands:

The future halted at thirty-something?
Our past-present once, so-comforting:
Now we live, no long-gone mistakes,
the future unfixed, we shall still be great.

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