Quiet Desperation Poem by Martin Moore

And I, I die in ageing, I just cannot keep pace
Inside, hormones raging, outside, the human race
I lie, in enervation by a Mediterranean pool
A quite accepting nation of an old lethargic fool
In quiet desperation I watch young lovers love
Aphrodite on vacation eyeing from above
Young girls lie Lolita-like, bikini-clad and tanned
I observe the little tykes from my senescent stand
And wish for youth and beauty in my artistic bent
I ask, as is my duty, is this what Nabokov meant?