I grow old... I grow old... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I wipe my bare behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
But I do not care:
What, Me Worry?
[apologies to T. S. Eliot]
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