THE LITTLE OLD LADY IN LAVENDER SILK by Dorothy Parker

I was seventy-seven, come August,
     I shall shortly be losing my bloom;
I've experienced zephyr and raw gust
     And (symbolical) flood and simmom.

When you come to this time of abatement,
     To this passing from Summer to Fall,
It is manners to issue a statement
     As to what you got out of it all.

So I'll say, though reflection unnerves me
     And pronouncements I dodge as I can,
That I think (if my memory serves me)
     There was nothing more fun than a man!

In my youth, when the crescent was too wan
     To embarrass with beams from above,
By the aid of some local Don Juan
     I fell into the habit of love.

And I learned how to kiss and be merry--an
     Education left better unsung.
My neglect of the waters Pierian
     Was a scandal, when Grandma was young.

Though the shabby unbalanced the splendid,
     And the bitter outmeasured the sweet,
I should certainly do as I then did,
     Were I given the chance to repeat.

For contrition is hollow and wrathful,
     And regret is not part of my plan,
And I think (if my memory's faithful)
     There was nothing more fun than a man!