At seven love is a warm, full belly,
with a mummy and daddy close by.
As they teach us right from wrong,
shelter us from all harm we try.

At seventeen love is in the beholder,
looking for a face and body dream.
Someone to have a baby with,
as acquaintances by us stream.

(Refrain)

At twenty-seven struggling to be happy,
fulfilling spouse and children's need.
Getting through the tough times together,
foregoing dreams of individual greed.

At thirty-seven the wanderlust arrives,
with unfulfilled dreams on the mind.
Wanting to get out of all obligations,
breaking ties for new love to find.

(Refrain)

At forty-seven, almost heaven,
wanderlust becomes one's prime.
Bucket list of love once missed,
is attempted one more time.

At fifty-seven retirement haven,
is taken seriously for the first time.
True love wants to nestle there,
while there still is reason to rhyme.

(Refrain)

At sixty-seven with health waning,
love becomes one of patience.
Nurturing the grandchildren all,
viewing transgression with penance.

At eighty-seven love no longer heaven,
but a search for the ultimate ideal.
Retracing old loves lost in time,
for the lessons that they reveal.

(Refrain)

Just another silly love song. (The Beatles)

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