By forty you’d be rich and famous
              So you said
By fifty you’d be a revered opinion maker
With princes and the rich queuing for your ideas
              So you said
By sixty you’d be a modern but erudite oracle
Dispensing flakes of stunning wisdom to all
              So you said
By eighty you’d be a rare phenomenon
Physically strong and mentally sharp beyond belief
              So you said
But who’s this tattered old person in rimless glasses
Begging the indulgence of amused passers-by
And selling rusty memories at two for a dollar?