In nineteen hundred four and sixty,
When staying stoned seemed real nifty,
I thought age made one dull and nerdy,
And trusted no one over thirty.
The years have passed, my views have changed,
My valuations rearranged,
I now judge young folks shallow, drifty,
And trust no one who ain’t reached fifty.
Soon from this author: This God-Awful Political Season (In Verse)