Old weary Tudor beams
That have seen it all before
The cracks are showing
Aching tree trunk limbs, aging

Beer guides, and Utopian dreams
So many yesterdays
Quaffed memories
Chaffed wrinkling skin

Cliched springs of hope
Hares box
But don't elude the fox
Sunshine beckons, but deceives

Time to quaff
Mead, and cider, not ale
Drunken memories
Of a good time gal

Then the young arrive
Hopeful anticipation
Please remain hopeful
The old, no longer gold

We are made of lead
Or Pewter, or Thyme
And time, And old
Magical herbs

We no longer smoke (often)
I personally
Am a woman
That once upon a waning moon
Was something else

by Jemia