Fifty-One
A guy feels inferior
When he looks in the mirror
And observes that his hair is gray-spun,
And his wife's an old wench
Who must do in a pinch
When he turns, at last, fifty-one.
His kids have outgrown
The advice he has sown
And he rarely has any fun,
But if he is square
With himself, he's aware
It's because he has turned fifty-one.
He isn't that old
And his farm isn't sold
And he's nobody's prodigal son,
Yet he's long past his prime
To be counting on time
To be kind to him past fifty-one.
No, he comes to conclude
As he sees himself nude
That his problems cannot be outrun.
And since the wife's all he's got
He tells her she's hot
And hopes she will do fifty-one.
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