The world of stuffing mannequins into a storage locker has passed me by
As too the world of clocks and the midnight shuttle bus
But as for the world of eating fruit from a golden stomach
Too old for that, never
But you could tell that to your worn sandals
What have you here? Ripe apricots
What have you here? My riding horse
Go now to the stable for your bath and post bath massage
Go now before I mount and ride you far beyond the golden outskirts
Go on now and don't nuzzle me with your mane
I'm far too old to be giving that kind of affection at will
But come back to me at night for a fervid pat
Come back when the campfire is making me perspire
Have you not heard me? Who are you cantering for?
Me? Don't canter on account of me
What have you here? What's that dangling in your mouth?
Cud? Is that a snaffle bit? A saddle?
Is that a holster?
My eyesight is strained
Too much staring at the warm glowing things
Drop what you have