(written without using the letter “e”)
There is no country for old guys. All of Youth In a schmuck's arms, bird in arbors --a dying thing--at its song, A salmon-falls, a tuna-full rapid, Fish, frogs, or fowl, yawp all blissful day long Nothing is anything, born, and croaks. Caught in that inspiring music all is nothing Marks of continual smarts.
“That is no country for old men. The young / In one another’s arms, birds in the trees / —Those dying generations—at their song, / The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, / Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long / Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. / Caught in that sensual music all neglect / Monuments of unageing intellect.” –W.B. Yeates