I was disgraced in the rain;
It dampened every inch of my skin.
I went to my middle-aged Muse,
But she wouldn’t let me in.
I was disgraced on the train;
A middle-aged woman asked me why
My middle-aged lover was crying. How kind.
I hadn’t caused her to cry.
I was disgraced by my brain,
A poem I was hiding within,
Made better while it was hiding;
Hidden never seems like sin.
Old women adore me,
And children love me, too.
Middle-age is nothing but pride,
Elegant, sex-mad, you.
