I've been up a forest of gum trees

Got cornered in many a spot

Up the creek is a formality for me

Some of us simply preferred it hot

 

Often I  swam far out of my depth

Within an inch of deep water

At times had my back against the wall

Loved much but never had son or daughter

 

Trouble is the thing I was made for

Dire straits always seemed too tame

I loved facing up to daunting odds

But I never gave a woman my name

 

Now I'm old and stuck in a care home

My bones not as flexible as of yore

Nobody ever comes to visit me

I'm bed-ridden and permanently sore

 

I'll fight this virus to the end if it kills me

The odds are good overcomes bad

It was always me versus the majority

Even as a kid I was all I ever had

 

Night is falling early or is this a mist?

I try to call but nobody listens

This cough will be the death of me

What is it in the mist that glistens?