"Write about me instead"

A darkling thrush says not too much,
About the rhymes of life,
Nor whitish pages on loss, and love,
Of those who liked to write.

Woman much loved, you I wonder
How did he make you feel?
Could you see his eyes, and big cracked lips
And know they make him real?

Oh bugler boy at first communion, I say
The smartest boy in Wales,
If only you were sat beside me
My heart might seem impaled...

For what was the feast followed the night
Thou hadst glory of this boy?
Libido drained yet not asleep
I played, I touched, I toyed

It little profits that an idle king
Should sit upon a throne
When sat on princely poof beside him
Is not a poof to call his own?

Alas! for this grey shadow, once a man-
The unsightly son of souls
Could do a deed with you in hand
And do it till grown old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep
Your voice will be the same
I will kiss each and every bit
Be you blind or deaf or lame

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
So let's not talk of age
Let's talk of bright and happy things
So we might set the stage

The night is darkening round me
But at least your lamp is on
Toucha-toucha-touch me
Before the night is gone

I know not how it falls on me
This feeling of transcendent grace
But when it falls away from me
I long to see your face

Fra Pandolf's hands would work busily a day
Should you they have to paint
I'm running out of quotes to bring
My manner losing quaint

I hunt the house through,
And here I find, this final, final rhyme
So let's not delay, let's just smile
I'm seeing you in nine days time