Brittle Bones.

Though I am an old man          With my bones very brittle,      Though I am a poor old man          Worth very little,      Yet I suck at my long pipe          At peace in the sun,      I do not fret nor much regret          That my work is done.      If I were a young man          With my bones full of marrow,      Oh, if I were a bold young man          Straight as an arrow,      And if I had the same years          To live once again,      I would not change their simple range          Of laughter and pain.      If I were a young man          And young was my Lily,      A smart girl, a bold young man,          Both of us silly.      And though from time before I knew          She'd stab me with pain,      Though well I knew she'd not be true,          I'd love her again.      If I were a young man          With a brisk, healthy body,      Oh, if I were a bold young man          With love of rum toddy,      Though I knew that I was spiting          My old age with pain,      My happy lip would touch and sip          Again and again.      If I were a young man          With my bones full of marrow,      Oh, if I were a bold young man          Straight as an arrow,      I'd store up no virtue          For Heaven's distant plain,      I'd live at ease as I did please          And sin once again.