Short Sight?

The letters must have shrunk.‘I’m afraid it’s just age sir, that’s all . . .’I felt like telling her that my youngerSelf is the real me, as the drunk,When he’s sober, denies his Mr. Hyde.And if by some miracle, there is aJudgment Day, I expect to find myselfA slim, smiling, fanciable lad of twenty three.

But in that land of the eternal now,I might still be old and need the specsTo see up there what there is to see.Or will playing on those Elysian FieldsWith the perfect few whom the gods find trueBe a perfect hell - no single flaw to see?