Though my best years in life to the forever gone
Three score years and six and i am rhyming on
And though i hope to be rhyming till my life's final day
On that destiny will have the final say
I never pretended that i was a poet
Nor am i one worthy of literary note
I have been called an addictive rhymer this well may be
Though rhyming a source of enjoyment for me
In nineteen seventy three in my life's prime
Far north of where i now live i penned my first rhyme
And though my worth as a rhymer i always do doubt
Never shortage of things for me to rhyme about
My best days in life are in the distant past
And each rhyme i pen one nearer to my last.
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