Seniors Still

Seniors Still

We were the seniors of 1961,
Brash and bold our life just begun,
Bursting with gusto in our fists,
Down with establishment! we hissed.

Tear down those restraining bars,
We have no need for kings or czars,
Who would order my life;
And drag out the drum and fife.

They think I’m stupid, a dolt,
To be led around like a baby colt;
And pull me this way, push me that,
Sounding like a bigwig autocrat.

I was the one who burned the flag,
Drank cheap wine and took a drag
From Puff the Magic dragon,
Till one day I got on the wagon.

Slowly I began to come down again,
And took a look at the mess I was in,
It was then I realized my youthful zest,
Unbridled was not always the best.

And I considered the stature of the old,
With experiences made from pure gold;
Whose counsel I once thought arcane,
But now consider as fine champagne.

Still I struggle with the orthodox,
For often I live outside the box;
And my horizons still higher than the sun,
Just like they were way back in 61.