When I have paid each penny due
And count the rest, though they be few
I'll contemplate the real import
Of pennies saved and status bought
I'll rail against the feckless young
That I am forced to live among
As age by age, their elders do
Be sure that I will do it too
The screaky sounds the young ones play
Unlike the music of my day
Will taunt my ears and fuel my rage
As will the half-wits on the stage
Interpreting those strident tones
With tuneless voice and eerie moans
Why don't they write romantic airs
Like those that scored our chaste affairs?
And wherefore do they dress so bad
Whereto has fled the style we had?
That language that they mumble so
Is not the one I used to know!
What happened to the fairer sex
That now all female fair rejects?
Instead competing with their mate
Who's now the fair - to compensate!
Let's think, how else to vent my spleen
Against the ineffectual teen?
My duty as a sour old man
Is derogating while I can
How do I know I'll be that grouch
When decomposing on my couch?
I need not change, or make a vow
To be the same grouch I am now!
This almost sounds like a poem I read by another Poet many years ago. Can't remember the poets' name, but great spoken words of wisdom. Great poem of someone growing old. Aren't we all? LOL