When I was thirty-five, it was a very good year.
It was a very good year for blue-blooded
girls of independent means.
We`d ride in limousines. Their chauffeurs
would drive when I was thirty-five.
But now the days are short, I`m in the
autumn of the year
and now I think of my life as vintage
wine from fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs. It poured
sweet and clear. It was a very good year.
