Life has a habit of getting in love’s way;
Now life’s crucial emotion just goes through the motions;
Surely smarter men than I
Have struggled to understand and satisfy
What it might take to mix life and love both night and day.

It’s easy for each sex to blame the other,
Choose the real reasons not to uncover but smother;
Too easy the men to blame the tender gender
Too easy to mark men return to sender;
But the cause, of course, is elsewhere.

In the grim, grey commerce of life
We must compulsorily sacrifice,
All that was once to life regarded as essential,
Now just another marketing device,
To be laid at the feet of sweet success, society’s graven idol.

Love, free and natural, is now a vice;
Love’s thriving force, pure passion,
Is sadly relegated last by fancy fashion;
As we age, must we ourselves destroy
Just to stay in some sad, social employ?

On Life’s casting couch we will live,
Indebted till we have no more to give;
Pose and prostrate,
Egos on account, super swollen prostate,
Retirement residues trickle down from society’s sieve.

The price to pay, some sadly say,
Is the total loss of the ability to just play;
Sure you’ll be happy in a way, both day and night;
But the price paid to avoid some paltry life plight
Is the loss of simple, easy love and life,
And probably the loss of our planet, the ultimate blight.