Bats and Bawls.

But why worry! Age is only youth which has lost its memory, and the day must dawn when memory will return like the prodigal son-of-a-gun drawn to home and hearth by calf love. It is said that a smart crack on the cranium will resurrect a memory which has sunk beneath the ooze of the blues. If this is according to Hoyle and Cocker the adulterated world is due for a resurrection of youth. Nemesis is wielding the willow, and there is a chance that she will bat some beautitude into the beans of the prematurely proscribed. In the meantime age might excusably beg of youth:

Don't scold
Because I'm old,
But educate me
In things that go
To make the world
Less webbed in woe!

Don't blame
Because I'm lame
In mental muscle,
But give me light
To squash the blight
Which makes me hustle!
Don't pity me
Because you see
The way I grump
When life might be
A rhapsody
Despite the slump.

Don't scold
Because I'm old,
But teach me sense,
To live each da
That comes my way,
Despite expense.

Don't overlook
The Doomsday book
Which fouls my Fate,
But put me right
On things which might
“Give me the gate.”
In other speech
Teach me to reach
And get a fist
On simple fact
That won't retract
And do a “twist.”

Youth is busy making the best of a bad job because it hasn't discovered that the job is bad. If the child is father of the man this explains man's infantile paralysis of the understanding.

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