Sexagenarian (!)*

Happy Birthday, Mr Macgregor
You’re ageing well, you beggar!
Your teeth, no doubt a tad behind
Your ever-overactive mind;
You hair, a modern mystery
Long since confined to history,
Leaving one and all to guess
What you’ve never yet confessed…
The tale of its whereabouts:
Did you shave it off
Or did it just fall out?
Though really no-one else’s business,
Did it ever look a mess…?
Were you ever a Mod,
A trendsetting god,(!)
Or a Rocker by stealth
Investing your wealth
In jackets of leather
And drainpipe jeans,
Or a sailor-boy,
If you know what I mean…?
It’s hard to imagine your Rod Stewart ‘do’
With terrible trousers and a fur coat or two:
Can you imagine Nareesa’s face
If you’d turned up like that
At her parents’ place…?!
It’s hard to imagine
(and God knows we’ve tried)
What you would look like
With short-back-and-sides!
And more to point, where’s the last decade gone?
It weren’t so long you were pre-fifty-one…
* – a real word, just in case you’re wondering


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