On Thursday last, I walked with care,
And then I saw across the square,
Two people came, their hands entwined,
(a stranger pair you could not find).
I shall not love again, as in my youth,
Nor find the comfort of our middle age,
Yet from Life's book is missing one last page.
And now I must confess I hid the truth.
An emu; what the hell is that?
A feather in a ladies hat?
Elixir you're afraid to drink
For fear your you-know-what will shrink?