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Question: What's the Roger McGough poem!.!.young mans!.!.!?
!.!.about death or something, I can't find it anywhere, it was this poem about dying a young mans death, My dad told it to me at one time and I can't remember the rest!. I need to quote it somewhere, if anyone could help me out that would be great!. It's killing me that I can't remember it, so much so that it's 4am and I can't sleep because of it!
also, am I the only one tha gets a sugar craving at 0400!?
WHERE ARE THOSE OREOS!!

Rhianna Www@QuestionHome@Com


Best Answer - Chosen by Asker:
Let Me Die a Young man's Death

Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death

When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party

Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides

Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one

Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death

Roger McGough

From your friend Dr Frank, I always liked the bit about dying when I was 104 in bed with my mistress's daughter! XXXWww@QuestionHome@Com

Hmm!.!.!. MAYBE "To an Athlete Dying Young," by A!. E!. Housman!.

To An Athlete Dying Young

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high!.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town!.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose!.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man!.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup!.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's!.Www@QuestionHome@Com