Not yet 40, my beard is already white. <br />Not yet awake, my eyes are puffy and red, <br />like a child who has cried too much. <br /> <br />What is more disagreeable <br />than last night's wine? <br /> <br />I'll shave. <br />I'll stick my head in the cold spring and <br />look around at the pebbles. <br />Maybe I can eat a can of peaches. <br /> <br />Then I can finish the rest of the wine, <br />write poems 'til I'm drunk again, <br />and when the afternoon breeze comes up <br /> <br />I'll sleep until I see the moon <br />and the dark trees <br />and the nibbling deer <br /> <br />and hear <br />the quarreling coons<br /><br />Lew Welch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/not-yet-40-my-beard-is-already-white/
