Goodbye, goodbye to old Romance–
I’ll never have another chance!
For, I find, I am growing old,
And even my ashes are getting cold.
He cannot pass for chic again
Who has a little girl of ten!
From making whoopee I’ve gone, instead,
To piling, at 9 pm, in bed;
Where once I danced, or enjoyed a spree,
A movie is high-life enough for me.
Juvenile parts he can play no more
Whose hair is turning a frosty hoar.
And still, when a shapely lass goes by,
My insides sizzle, and curl, and fry;
My ideas suddenly change
As basic atoms re-arrange.
Pardon ME , Toots–you think I could
Have one last fling?–Let’s MAKE IT GOOD!
by Ray Romine Thursday, September 12, 1946
