Observation in Ischia
(The senior travellers)
You know...
One mans mullet is another mans herring
And one mans pickle is another mans halo
Please please I ask you
Spare me the critique
Simply enjoy the show
Hang on for the ride
It will surely all conclude too soon
And the bits you recall
Will only come from the deep end
Of your whiskey glass
And so I think
The misery of growing old
Is picking the positives of your youth
Then turning them into
The negatives of your old age
Throw them face first
Into the wind
Travel without that baggage
Grin at the sea
Caress your glass
Give three cheers
For still being on the road
And not yet parked up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem