When I was just the tender age of three
( I have been told reliably)
I gave my parents a nasty fright
by bawling away through the night
In hindsight, when a scrawny lad of ten
I consider, there was a definite omen
Having devloped a taste for sambar and idlis
I demolished a dozen with consummate ease
My grim future could've been definitely seen
when at twelve, I started on Alistair Maclean
For, though lately from Enid Blytons graduated
I read all twentynine before I was sated.
Ah! Youth ! when I learnt the pleasures of the drop
and the uses of cigarettes as a stylish prop
Soon we were bunging vodka doubles down the hatch
and roads could be repaired with my lungs' tar patch
Nothing , however has caused more concern and derision
than my regrettable decline in the choice of women
Busty heroines gave way to Pam A and Lucy Lawless in my dreams
Now the caverns of my sleep resound with Chyna's screams
Big Man Up Above, I hate to be a botheration
but weren't You to imbue in me moderation?
Not to put it too finely, verily Thou blew it
and whenever I like something, I overdo it.
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