Third Age
Photo: Wikimedia Commons
Oh, to float in that deep hot oily bath,
Perfumed candle,
Glass of wine, and
A long 'Mor' cigarette
Weightless legs
The sanctuary, where no children
Or grandchildren were allowed;
Perfect, perfect peace.
BUT
Now the shower
No place to hang
The aching body
Swinging the towel may tumble the candle
No place for the wine
No more 'Mor'
Everyone knocking at the door.
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