Struggling, at times, with patience to maintain,
As the result, of a discussion, so mundane
And trivial to me, you must remain,
A willing listener, of a logical wane.

When I was a lad of three,
I never thought about what I'd see
When I reached the age of eighty-three.
For if I knew, I'd have lived this long,
I would have sung a different song.

You that plumb, the depths of decency,
Are behaving badly, far too frequently.

May I touch your hand, to remember,
How our love, has endured?
Can I hug and hold you,
Until I am, re-assured,
That you won't suddenly leave,
When I am not fully cured?