(Response to a columnist of ‘The Australian’ who was discounting aged citizens)

Shane, oh Shane,

For your thoughts I fear,

Resentment for boomers,

You hold so dear,

You dismiss the aged,

As blights upon Earth,

Yet I suspect a connection,

Of lineage through birth,

With some who are old,

Who must weather your scorn,

For without we boomers,

You never were born.

The vindictive streak,

With which you colour us all,

(Yes I confess,

It’s gotten my gall),

But on reflection I’m sad,

For the way that you feel,

And wonder if years,

Will that spirit heal?

May your future be bright,

But may I be bold,

And wonder your thoughts,

When it’s your turn to grow old.