There were moments of regret
That I painfully recall.
Moments I try to subdue
Like hitting a brtick wall.
No one is perfect, I read long ago
But it seems we try hard
To perfect an aging labido
Like an old one track record.
Yet the thought is what counts.
It lets us see ourselves
Without any blinders on.
The real you, with warts and all.
Ron
well said
Never stop writing,
m
Love ya!
Jane