Time Your time is the cruelest master of all, Right up to your teens you're just having a ball, Your #life is a glib fest of good times and strops, With no sense of Jack Shit your teens are just tops, Bang into your twenty's and thirty's you're good, The man of the house and the whole neighbourhood, You know what it is hot and you don't give a fuck, Those dice love you baby they're bringing you luck, But Old Father Time has a trick up his sleeve, You don't know it yet but you better believe, That you'll soon be sliding right out of the game, That face in the mirror just won't be the same, At forty and fifty you're King Of The Hill, As strong as an oxen you never sit still, You still like to party but just on your own, And once in a while you let out a soft groan, At Sixty folk laugh as your trousers don't fit, As you blush and pretend that you don't give a shit, At Seventy vulnerability looms, You sit with the old folk in Caring Home Rooms, And should you hit Eighty time laughs in your face, As you stagger and stumble all over the place, You try to stay close to that lavatory door, Along with the others who's bowels are poor, And Old Father Time has a trick up his sleeve, You don't know it yet but you better believe, That you'll soon be sliding right out of the game, That face in the mirror just puts you to shame.  #poem #aging #time