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.