She reviews her arse in the mirror.
Has it still got a dimple?
Has it got, any bigger?
It's the same with her face.
Has it got a mole or a pimple?
Have I lost my youthful vigour?
Do I now have bushy nasal hair?
She reviews her ears in the mirror.
Are they getting bigger, so it's official?
She's getting older "I'm Old" now tears.
Stark-horror even my height is shorter.
My face is showing wrinkles.
And there are red blotch blood-vessels
Around her nose, her mouth and chest:
Her husband shouts don't worry, love.
Bless I'll still, love—yeah!
Don't worry, love.
I'll still love—yeah!
"Dear … you're simply the best."
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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