Young women's sight

At a poetry reading the other night

I laughed with childish delight

At an old man’s poem

About young women’s chosen sight

It seems they had chosen not to see him

Well when you add me, him is them

But then they never saw me very well

For I didn’t seem to ring their bell

I had nice even features

And my eyes were a pretty blue

Glib of tongue, and a nice smile too

Yet I never roused lust

Well now I am basically

A pile of rust

With creaking joints

And faded eyes

Yet in my dreams

Both day and night,

I still hear sighs

And know I’m a Delight

For I too have selective sight