It hardly matters if my verses are not much good and it hardly matters if I am past my prime
And life for me it would go on as usual If I were not to write another rhyme
For three decades now I've been an old style rhymer and penning rhymes a thing I do enjoy
But there is more to life than penning verses and life goes on when the inspiration well runs dry.
But one of our greatest gifts the gift of memory and our good memories are with us until the day we die
And I still have memories of the pipits singing in Summer in the fields of Lisnaboy
And I was young then ten years or eleven and meadows scented sweetly of hay in July
But time and tide 'tis said doesn't wait for anyone and on looking back those years just seemed to fly.
And life goes on no matter who comes or goes and birds will build their nests and lay their eggs in Spring
And hatch to life the future generation of feathered songsters born to fly and sing
The sexual drive is the gift of survival it's in the animal and bird and man
And few humans ever live to see one hundred Summers and three score and ten for us the average span.
And life it goes on for the ageing rhymer and rhymers many though the poets are few
And make the most of life whilst health is with you for the Reaper who will claim me will claim you
I was in Primary School back in the fifties and look at me now my hair is silver gray
But I retain some very happy memories and those good memories have not aged a day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.