Folk-Fest Poem by Roger Clark
Folk-Fest
You look quizzically
At the years gone by;
Frowning at all those
Who've joined
The slide of time;
Your pony-tail
Is longer, greyer,
And your Tilley hat
More wrinkled.
You dance inside
To bits of half-forgotten tunes,
Still eating childhood's ice cream
Or sipping beer in cups
That are disposable,
Wishing you weren't;
And so, you frown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 6:30:41 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
