In middle age I find I want
But one thing from this mortal jaunt.
It is not wealth, which brings much care.
It is not looks – for who needs hair?
It is not fame – the paparazzi
Are worse than any goose-step Nazi.
Religion is of no concern;
My ex assures me I shall burn.
About my work I'm not obsessive;
I know it's mostly unimpressive.
Travel doesn't leave me thrilled.
All my cavities are filled.
Romance is a paradox
Left to those who dare a pox.
No, I seek but one last gem . . .
A daily, quiet, quick bm.
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