This poem was originally published on 25 July 2016.
They were bottled souls, Aged sixty, Simply looking for a glass to fill. So they asked for me, And I came against my will. Advice on the rocks, Aged sixty, A lad of my age ought to know. I might not fancy the taste, But it’s something to keep on the go. All that they said, Quite dated. Both a bit bitter and sweet. I was used to different flavours. They were used to neat. A bottled soul, Aged eighteen, Hopefully aging like fine wine, With a distaste, For the stale words of Wisemen, Rendered poor old fools with time.