Inkpotamus

Let me live an old man’s youth,
Short of breath and long in tooth,
Not unruly nor uncouth,
A dressed in tweeds, hair recedes,
No misdeeds, time-honoured truth youth.

When I’m sweet and I’m sixteen,
Oh so awkward, in-between,
Let me not be freshly green,
But worldly wise, with heavy sighs,
And rheumy eyes, a good old bean seem.

And when I’m twenty-one,
Not out for trouble nor for fun,
Not boy-racing and surviving,
But old fusspotting and whist-driving,
Quite at home with tea and bun.

And before I’m twenty-six,
Let’s not learn the bad boy’s tricks,
Not a gun-totting young crack-dealer,
But old hotpotting potato-peeler,
Bingo-playing, psalm book praying.

Let me live an old man’s youth,
A carpet-slippers, rocking chair,
Songs of Praise and country air,
Church on Sundays, greying hair,
Quiet thatch upon the roof, youth.