In forty seven years this seems a long time
I am one who has written a whole heap of rhyme
Some of them a bit racy and some rather rough
And to be considered as poetry perhaps not good enough
Back in nineteen seventy three when my hair was dark brown
I penned my first rhymes just west of Millstreet Town
On going back the Seasons this seems long ago
And since time that ages all life has become my foe
I loved reading rhymes when i was a boy
And writing them nowadays i thoroughly enjoy
Like many with rhyming words one who loves to play
New rhymes do keep coming to me every day
If i said that i would quit rhyming this would be a lie
As i hope to be doing it until the day i do die.
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