Septuagenarian’s Lament

If I ever become a septuagenarian
Please don’t let me be in charge
Of companies, countries or reportage

For the age of steam has long since passed
It may well be your precious train set
But electricity hasn’t caught you yet

Thoughts and manners forever clouded
Though still a trace of faculties
Mudflats left by ebbing seas

Bent by power and avarice
Slow-motion soul fades and unwinds
Oh what goes on in a crooked mind

Decades of experience yes perhaps true
Alas anchored in dark unchartered oceans
Oft corrupted by ancient potions

And misled by worm-tongued heirs
With even scarcer humility
Wealth obviously doesn’t buy empathy

Affording to pen one’s own story
Innocent eyes may never see
Past those thin veils of philanthropy

Soaring serpent evidently no more
Now just a weary dragon coveting its gold
Long gone those halcyon days of old

For those starry ages have long since passed
It’s now the hour to confess and stand down
Time to relinquish that tarnished crown