I’m still working on the next draft for my Magic in the RV story, but in the mean time, how about a poem? No, this one isn’t improvised, but I did write it on the fly.
What makes an old man’s hair white
What makes an old man grey
Does God think we don’t know he’s old
Les’ he takes the colour away
What makes an old man’s back sore
What makes his old back ache
Does the Lord think we know not he’s old
if he’s able to stand up straight?
Please don’t hurt the older people
We need no signals or signs
For we can tell how old he is
If he’s experienced and wise