I was seventy-seven, come August, <br />I shall shortly be losing my bloom; <br />I've experienced zephyr and raw gust <br />And (symbolical) flood and simoom. <br /> <br />When you come to this time of abatement, <br />To this passing from Summer to Fall, <br />It is manners to issue a statement <br />As to what you got out of it all. <br /> <br />So I'll say, though reflection unnerves me <br />And pronouncements I dodge as I can, <br />That I think (if my memory serves me) <br />There was nothing more fun than a man! <br /> <br />In my youth, when the crescent was too wan <br />To embarrass with beams from above, <br />By the aid of some local Don Juan <br />I fell into the habit of love. <br /> <br />And I learned how to kiss and be merry- an <br />Education left better unsung. <br />My neglect of the waters Pierian <br />Was a scandal, when Grandma was young. <br /> <br />Though the shabby unbalanced the splendid, <br />And the bitter outmeasured the sweet, <br />I should certainly do as I then did, <br />Were I given the chance to repeat. <br /> <br />For contrition is hollow and wraithful, <br />And regret is no part of my plan, <br />And I think (if my memory's faithful) <br />There was nothing more fun than a man!<br /><br />Dorothy Parker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-little-old-lady-in-lavender-silk/
