My temples covered with white hair,
My skin wrinkled, my muscles slack.
Though I have five sons, none would care
To read or write in white or black.
My eldest son is now twice eight,
But lazy as him none appears.
My second son won’t dedicate
Himself to arts at fifteen year.
My third and fourth sons at thirteen
Know not how much makes six plus seven.
My youngest son has nine years green;
Mid pears and nuts he is in heaven.
If such be the decree divine,
What can I do but drink my wine?