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Let them have it; it's theirs

 Beauty goes out of the world and it's only the beating of flesh that fills the air. It's only the moaning of some whore made good by the bank balance of a richer man. Let them bang on at it. Let the flesh smells rot the air. As for this withering part of the tree, As for me:  I will enjoy the last rays of the sun.  People are such a disappointment.
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Even though I'll be old and crunkled

Even though I'll be old and crunkled and not my former self 
Even though the poetry in my heart won't show on my face
Even though I'm hard to get along with at the best of times
Someone will see enough of me to know that I'm worth loving

Let the others doubt my true intentions. 
Let them think what they may. 
I'm a coffee shop in Western Europe
I'm a cabin in the Icelandic woods

The very picture of coziness and character
Despite heartache I'm more alive than ever. 


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