, , , ,

As old car bodies yield to rust,
So we decay – I feel concussed.
A tooth’s been torn from worn old gums,
And will be sorely missed by chums
Whose ranks are thinning. These brave chaps
Between them see the yawning gaps –
The fallen who have lost the fight.
But those few left – no longer white,
Must grind the gruel and chew the crust,
Until the last one bites the dust.