Other men, men are sure, better lovers make, Young or old, better can sleeping passions wake. Many fear failing in pleasing those they seek, Listen well, as two such, tell you what they think. The Older Man Speaks Younger men, I am sure, better lovers make, Deft in touch, swiftly can sleeping passions wake. Sparkling bright, looking fit, hungry for the world, Moving up, gaining ground, lightning bolts they hurl. I am not swift like them, like those younger boys, I cannot give to you all those special joys. Coming from another time and another place, I am lost from the start in that sort of race. What I have is my love, simple, sweet and pure, Beyond place, beyond time, always to endure, Loving you as you are, woman wise or child, Feeling right only when I can see you smile. Younger men, I am sure, better lovers make, But my touch slowly can sleeping passions wake, And in time, given time, other special joys, Will us bind, better than games of younger boys. The Younger Man Speaks Older men, I am sure, better lovers make, Practiced touch, surely can sleeping passions wake. Dancing well, looking proud, knowing what to say, Biding time, social games willingly they play. I am not skilled like them, I am just a boy, I cannot give to you all those special joys. Coming late to this time from another place, I am lost from the start in this sort of race. What I give is my love, bright and bold and true, Knowing that I will die, if I can’t have you, Loving you, only you, perfect as you are, In my sky, bright and pure, sun and moon and star. Older men, I am sure, better lovers make, But my touch surely will sleeping passions wake, Taking from this time pure, such a perfect joy, Stopping time, binding us, girl who loves this boy.