| Years Time Old fool! You really think yourself the same As I who write to you, aged 22? Ha! All we’ve got in common is my name: I’ll wear it out, throw it away, You’ll pick it up some other day.... But who are you? My life’s before me; can you say the same? I choose its how and why and when and who. I’ll choose the rules by which we play the game; I may choose wrong, it’s not denied, But by my choice you must abide.... What choice have you? If, bored, I think one day to see the world I pack that day and fly out on the next. My choice to wander, or to sit home-curled; Each place has friends, good fun, good food, But you sit toothless, silent, rude.... And undersexed! Cares and regrets of loss can go to hell: You sort them out with Reason’s time-worn tool. Today’s superb; tomorrow looks as well: The word “tomorrow” is a thrill, I’ll make of mine just what I will.... What’s yours, old fool? Robin Helweg-Larsen |
If you have any comments on this poem, Robin Helweg-Larsen would be pleased to hear them.
