Gotterdamerung; and hearts get flung;
On voyages, sail clear to the moon.
And wedding vows get said somehow,
But we're pinching ourselves too soon.
Now we settle down, stop chasing the town;
Be respectable, in a pinch.
But drinking's still fine, and sex divine-
Oh! annoying seven-year itch.
Old age seeps, blood pressure creeps;
We're burning our candles too fast.
Though sleeping too light, we dream at night
We're burning that last tank of gas.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem