Be there Wrinkles at; Age by Time bestrew
And either Body will soon Decompose
Be that Prudence fit; Permit what you knew
Behind the Proverb to Reap what you Sow
That such Mind be the Player of this Game
As Father his Scythe's Traitor fell Conserve
To Lust for your Past; Then Future's insane
Once the Prince shows Signs of his own Disperse
That the Desert we plant our Mirages at
Then expect Turtle-Doves to Quench and Fly
Till they Return not by our Feeling's Spat
Then beg for the Truth which is all but a Lie.
Come. Prove me Wrong. Once your Stars polish Youth
Revive your Preppie's Face though such Un-Couth.

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