It was a Wonderful Sunny August day
When to the Park I made my way.
And strolling among the Trees and Flowers
The Silver lake by Sheltered bowers;
I Spied a Man of Senior Age,
Who\'s attention was held by the printed Page.
For a Book it was, that balm of life,
That free\'s all cares and Troubled Strife.
But he looked so down and quite forlorn,
Like a Condemned Man at the Crack of dawn.
I approached with Care his writhed frame
And asked the source of his apparent pain.
\'This Book\' he said \'It makes me Sad\',
\'The Saddest Tome I\'ve ever had\'.
\'Oh dearie Me\'\' I did reply,
Then saw the Tears flow from his eyes.
\'What is that Book that can display,
A Spirit of Doom and Black dismay\'?
\'Its \'The Joy of Sex\' he said in Tones
Of one depressed down to his Bones.
Well this was strange and somewhat new,
So I told him of my personal View;
\'I\'ve read the Book and thought it fun\',
\'No sauciest Book was ever spun\'.
But this was met with a Sorrowful Sigh,
As he turned on me a Pity-full eye -
\'A youth like you its fun maybe;
But not to one who\'s 93.