The Eternal Question

If I grow old before my day, If, in a night, my hair turns gray, ’Twill be from answering when you say “What for?”

If I have softening of the brain, If I’m adjudged unsound, insane, ’Twill be from trying to explain “What for?”

So, youngster, if ’tis your desire To have a loony, senile sire, Simply continue to inquire: “What for?”