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Home is the place where, when you have to go there
They make you mow the lawn or shovel snow there.


Politics, it seems to me,
For years, or all too long,
Has been concerned with right or left
Instead of right or wrong.


Good sportsmanship we hail, we sing.
It’s always pleasant when you spot it.
There’s only one unhappy thing;
You have to lose to prove you’ve got it.


The bride, white of hair, is stooped over her cane
Her faltering footsteps need guiding.
While down the church aisle, with wan toothless smile,
The groom in a wheelchair comes riding.
And who is this elderly couple you ask?
You’ll find, when you’ve closely explored it,
That here is that rare, most conservative pair,
Who waited ‘til they could afford it.

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