An Ode To My Past Life

Living with my nose in the air,

sniffing for the latest party to find,

a chamber of lost souls come together

like birds of a feather to have some wine.

Much more than that is had, though not thought bad

by the patrons who attend, but of course!

This is how parties are had,

and they could be worse.

Yesteryear was that without fear.

No inhibitions that would let you miss one night,

nor any one of your societal chains

with the various forms of funny poison obtained.

Yet no matter what it was with who,

those times are over;

even for the master of ceremonies himself.

A time comes when we all grow up and grow out

in all directions at once like a blooming daisy

in the springtime, no more juvenile guile

that makes all of it worthwhile.


The party is done. There will be other kinds to come

yet none so dangerous as to warrant worry.

Let’s live long.

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