You Are Old, Squire Steven
"You are old, Squire Steven," the young dancer said,
"'Round your belly sits many a pound;
Yet your capers propel you quite far overhead --
What gets you so high off the ground?"
"In our youth," said the Squire, "as I'm sure you'll agree,
The world weighs us down with despair;
But now that my motto is fiddle-dee-dee,
I find that I'm lighter than air!"
"You are old, Squire Steven, so remarkably old
That your every move causes you pain;
Yet your splitters are truly a sight to behold --
Pray, how do you handle the strain?"
"In my youth," said old Steven, "when pressed to go forth,
To direction I could not commit;
My left leg went southward, my right leg went north
And left me in permanent split."
"You are old, Squire Steven, and oftentimes grumble
Of your poor aching back and bad knees;
Yet here you are: leaping with nary a stumble --
Explain this conundrum, sir, please?"
"In my youth," said the geezer, "one sad fateful night
I heard an accordion play;
And now when a squeezebox appears in my sight
I find I leap high and away!"
"You are old, Squire Steven, your energy's slight,
Your hooklegs should tire you out;
Yet come the next Ale you'll be dancing all night --
Tell me: What's that all about?"
"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said the Squire. "You've had your last chance.
Do you think I can listen all night to such stuff?
Now put your foot up and let's dance!"