The poem
I made hay while the sun shone. My work sold. Now, if the harvest is over And the world cold, Give me the bonus of laughter As I lose hold.
Reprinted with the permission of John Murray (Publishers) Ltd.
The Last Laugh
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Now as I see the remains of my once"bon viveur" father.
This very morning I saw in the distance an old friend, crooked and old with a stick clinging to the arm of his once beautiful wife, still charming her and making her laugh, I know what this poem should mean to us all as we age