I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
T S Eliot from The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock
Regular readers will know that birds, real or imagined, feature frequently in this blog as does dismay at the prospect of growing old.
EAGLES
Like eagles perched high on a crag,
the young men scan a passing crowd,
see girls they’d blank, spot girls they’d shag,
the ugly ones, the well-endowed ...
Loud in their prime, these lads can’t fail:
their confidence is off the scale.
Then fifty years happens just like that ...
and suddenly it’s all gone flat.
No longer young or confident,
well past their prime and run to fat,
all life’s rich chances underspent ...
Youth seems a million years ago.
No eagle ever flew so low.
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