The Generation Cycle Poem by Michael Troy Buffo

We kept to ourselves most of the time,
We never committed any special crime
We'd hang out under a street lamp
We even stayed if it began to get damp.
We left them alone; figured they'd to the same
But I guess that wasn't part of their game.
They'd call us hood - straight to our faces!
And we'd turn away, utter disgraces
But that's in the past, and it's something I dread;
Half of us are gone and half of them are dead.
To dwell on the future will most likely be best
And I'll probably do it 'til I go to my rest
The future must hold something for me -That, I know!
But for now, I'll just sit and watch my beard grow
They sat that tomorrow is a new day,
But look at me now, I'm so old and gray
I can't say much more, for it's getting quite hard,
Except: I WANT THOSE DAMN PUNKS OUT OF MY YARD! !