Am I sensitive about aging? Only when someone two years younger than I is called "aged" — this is a kind of protest song
An aged, aged man
Last night I wasn’t dreaming when
I heard a lawyer vow
To get due justice from United
For his client, Dr. Dao.
For his client, Dr. Dao.
That battered doctor on the plane
Is all of sixty-nine;
So when his lawyer called him “aged”
Some of his pain was mine,
Some of his pain was mine.
The word burned in my hairy ears,
And through my brain did run:
With “aged,” death had found his sting,
For I am seventy-one,
For I am seventy-one.
Next time I fly, please keep an eye
On a passenger soon to be “late”;
Don’t leave that aged, aged man
A-sitting at the gate.
A-sitting at the gate.
He’ll muse upon the White Knight’s song
That’s known as “Haddock’s Eyes”
And plead with youngsters everywhere:
Don’t scorn, empathize!
Don’t scorn, empathize!
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