When I was seventeen it was a very good year. It was a very good year for small town girls. and soft summer nights. We'd hide from the lights on the village green. When I was seventeen. When I was twenty-one it was a very good year. It was a very good year for city girls who lived up the stairs. With all that perfumed hair and it came undone. When I was twenty-one. Then I was thirty-five it was a very good year. It was a very good year. for blue-blooded girls of independent means. Who'd ride in limousines and their chauffeurs would drive. When I was thirty-five. When I was fifty-three it was a wonderful year. It was a wonderful year to find the girl I'd call my own. A place where I belong and she'd love only me. When I was fifty-three. But now the days grow short I'm in the autumn of my years. And now I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs. From the brim to the dregs and it poured sweet and clear. It was a very good year