Short

Is a genetic disposition
And a financial imposition
A cut that gets me there soon
While arriving mad as a loon
Due to a shot that didn’t get there
And the length of my graying hair
While my sight or shall I say insight
Fails clearly before being alright
In the view of life that seems today
There’s more to do, more to say
About love and poems that rhyme
But there is so little left of time