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Robert W Service - The Petit Vieux
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"Sow your wild oats in your youth," so we`re always told;
But I say with deeper sooth: "Sow them when you`re old."
I`ll be wise till I`m about seventy or so:
Then, by Gad! I`ll blossom out as an ancient beau.
I`ll assume a dashing air, laugh with loud Ha! ha! . . .
How my grandchildren will stare at their grandpapa!
Their perfection aureoled I will scandalize:
Won`t I be a hoary old sinner in their eyes!

Watch me, how I`ll learn to chaff barmaids in a bar;
Scotches daily, gayly quaff, puff a fierce cigar.
I will haunt the Tango teas, at the stage-door stand;
Wait for Dolly Dimpleknees, bouquet in my hand.

Then at seventy I`ll take flutters at roulette;
While at eighty hope I`ll make good at poker yet;
And in fashionable togs to the races go,
Gayest of the gay old dogs, ninety years or so.

"Sow your wild oats while you`re young," that`s what you are told;
Don`t believe the foolish tongue — sow `em when you`re old.
Till you`re threescore years and ten, take my humble tip,
Sow your nice tame oats and then . . . Hi, boys! Let `er rip.
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