“You are young, my dear fellow,” the old man said
“and your hair has a very strange hue.
Tell me, why does it stand up in peaks on your head
and why, on your brow, a tattoo?”

“You are old, Father William,” the young man replied,
“In your youth you used Brylcreem and comb
but now that the hairs on your head have all died
pray, with what do you polish your dome?”

“You are young,” said the old man, “with holes in your jeans
and the skin of your back-side shows through.
You seem to like wearing those tattered ‘has-beens’,
pray, what is the reason you do?”

“You are old, Father William and don’t realise
we go to the charity shop.
Your shirt’s back in fashion, it could be my size,
pray, tell me, would you care to swap?”

“You are young,” said the old man, “with long years ahead,
what to do, you can never decide.
By taking a long walk, it may clear your head
but your car is nearby, so you’ll ride.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “and you walk with a stick
yet your tongue is quite supple and swift.
When we get down the pub, if you still take the ‘Mick’,
on the way back, you won’t get a lift.”

“In your youth,” said the sage, as he shook his bald head,
“You should learn everything that you can.
Acquiring some wisdom, has a lot to be said,
so, try to behave like a man.”

“I am sick of your snide digs, now that is enough,”
growled the youth, “You’re a cunning old fox.
I can’t stand and listen all day to this stuff,
I’ll be missing the film on the box.”

© Marion Sharville

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