On Being Old. It's Not Nice But

When I Die, I Want To Decompose In A Barrel Of Porter And Have It Served In All The Pubs In Dublin. I Wonder Would They Know It Was Me?

See All The Women Seated, Youth In Their Face Lifts, Old Age In Their Hands.

And No. I Must Not Go On Thinking. For The Pain Will Never Go Away. You Just Go On And Live. In The Dust Of Desertion. Still Falling Where Last I Loved.

Blessed Are They Who In This Sea Of Frailty, Climb Aboard A Piece Of Ass As It Floats By.

I'm All For Christianity, But Insolence Must Be Put Down.