Even my pubic hairís gone grey.
Tufts bristle from my ears and nose.
Why this bald patch on top? God knows...
If life were something lived in play
Iíd laugh at what the mirror shows:
a second chin, a stoop, the way
I pull my stomach in to close
the gap with when I could compose
myself as poetry, not prose.
If you have any comments on this poem, Tom Vaughan
would be pleased to hear from you.