| Subject: Midlife "Cry-sess" |
Author:
T. Yahraus
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Date Posted: 10:15:52 01/30/02 Wed
Time has a way of chasing away "lean",
It seems that all I've got left is this fat-machine!
Where went that profile, so trim, so quick?
Fast dancing music is certainly not my pick.
It can take you breath away just putting on shoes,
My lack of resolve cries, "Bring on the booze!"
A walk in the park winds up under a tree,
Sweat falls like drops of rain, splashing on my knee.
My breath is so toxic, repulsive to all,
My waistline rubs hallways, knocking lanterns from the wall!
Biting remarks from young and from old,
Drive me to go homeward, my poor dog to scold.
But one month is special, and I am a king,
My part-time talent, the Santa Clause thing!
Sitting up high on department store throne,
I survey my skinny kingdom, my very, very own!!
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