not quite ronsard

when you are old and under the fluorescent light
you tell the tale of all those long-gone days
you'll say as you recite my half-forgotten lays
once i was loved by a young poet bright
but no one hears in that late conquered night
who knows my name it seems almost a craze
for the old to remember their friends with praise
but you should not go down without a fight
rather you had when time and chances were
have seized the moment and taken the love
then offered and not affected the pose
of arrogant disdain that was then your year
you could have been the sweetest cooing dove
instead you spurned the single offered rose