His strong, square chin has fallen,
Saggy skin is hanging low,
So he grows a beard to hide it all,
A beard as white as snow.
His curly thick hair is gone, but still
A few strands do remain,
He combs them carefully each morn,
And thinks he looks the same.
His muscles droop, they're kinda soft,
But he flexes and he struts,
He thinks he's very handsome,
She tells him he is nuts.
But she's turned on every day,
And thinks she has a prize,
His face has changed, and yet,
There's lovelight in his eyes.
© By Frannie (Frannie516@aol.com)