To LOKERA who likes the lion and the rose

She was 15, a rose in the bud
Dazzled by her looks
I fought to carry her books
I was 16, a man I thought
She gave me my first kiss
and my kiss was her first too
couldn't tell us nothin
It was we against the world
She was 18, fully blossomed
curvaceous, luscious, a ripe plum
to be plucked
I was 19, a young lion, roaring
to become king
So we ran away and tied the knot
I was 30 and five, never grew up
She was 30 and 4 with five little cubs
And then I was 40 and five and lost my gig
She was 40 and 4 with a behind too big
The lion turned out to be a pussy
And the rose had wilted to a weed
What happened in between?
Life burns cold
We grow old 
And my story is told.