A lush and lustful perturbation,
in an enormous conurbation,
near the noisy railway station,
where we met and ate crustacean,
prior to our affectation,
and we found the ocean basin,
of our love and consternation,
oh how I miss the expectation,
of our romantic assignation….
And now we meet in quiet places,
hushed with many softer faces,
next to rural woodland copses,
enjoying apples mainly cox’s,
in our freedom of love that traces,
all our life till this body ceases,
oh how we enjoy the chasteness,
of our devotion born of lushness,
when we were so very young.
David Taylor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/getting-old-6/
