The Old Grey Mare
Posted on Friday, April 13, 2018
In: Hunting Poetry
Written by: G Whyte-Melville
Oh! once I believed in a woman’s kiss, I had faith in a flattering tongue, For lip to lip was a promise of bliss, When lips were smooth and young. But now the beard is grey on my cheek, And the top of my head gets bare, So little I speak, like an Arab sheikh,...