On Youthful Fathering
Here's a toast to transient youth,
To days of beer and ways uncouth,
To firm, rich breasts and times carefree,
To saucy dames and ribaldry!

For now I'm up at two o'clock
To feed the kid when she starts to squawk,
And Wifey yawns and bats her eyes,
And curses me as breakfast fries.

Then I must face my office chores,
The conspiracies and the office bores,
To do the work that runs a nation
(Pushing papers and aggravation).

Then claw my way through throbbing mobs,
Home to where my dinner's on,
And drift to sleep as daylight ends,
Tomorrow to face the crush again.

Oh, I've learned to yearn the youthful quest,
The fanciful winks at each passing dress,
And the way I'd climb to get the first
Glimpse at a lithesome coed's skirt.

But these are dreams and I must pretend
To be blind.  It's Fate's revenge
For all my lusty, romantic coddling.
I must learn the art of youthful fathering.