--------------------
when you are four it's lore and soar,
and you dance in youth and move on.
when you're fourteen, you swore so war,
and you run to the moving years.
at twenty-four it's roar and whore,
and you kick for all your sins.
then forty-four, so bore me more,
and you grumble at the times.
at sixty-four, you tore what's sore,
and you're alarmed when faced with clocks.
when eighty-four, it's snore and snore and snore
and if you awaken- sleep.
Glenn Bagshaw
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/all-the-world-s-a-stage-3/
