A Certain Age
How do I know that my youth is all spent?
Well, my get up and go has got up and went,
But in spite of it all I am able to grin.
When I think of the places my get up has been.
Old age is golden, So I've heard said
But sometimes I wonder, as I get into bed.
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup
And my eyes on the table until I wake up.
Ere sleep dims my eyes I say to myself
"Is there anything else I can put on the shelf?"
And I'm happy to say as I close the door
"My friends are the same, perhaps even more."
When I was a young thing my slippers were red,
I could kick my heels as high as my head.
Then when I was older, my slippers were blue,
But still I could walk the whole day through.
Now I'm still older, my slippers are black.
I walk to the store and puff my way back.
The reason I know my youth is all spent,
My get up and go has got up and went.
But really, I don't mind when I think with a grin,
Of all the grand places my get up has been.
Since I have retired from life's competition
I busy myself with complete repetition.
I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
Pick up the paper and read the 'obits',
If my name is missing I know I'm not dead
So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed.
A row of bottles on my shelf
Caused me to analyze myself.
One yellow pill I have to pop
Goes to my heart so it won't stop.
A little white one that I take
Goes to my hands so they won't shake.
The blue ones that I use a lot
Tell me I'm happy when I'm not.
The purple pill goes to my brain
And tells me that I have no pain.
The capsules tell me not to wheeze
Or cough or choke or even sneeze.
The red ones, smallest of them all
Go to my blood so I won't fall.
The orange ones, very big and bright
Prevent my leg cramps in the night.
Such an array of brilliant pills
Helping to cure all kinds of ills.
But what I'd really like to know...
Is what tells each one where to go!
My forgetter's getting better, but my rememberer is broke
To you that may seem funny, but, to me, that is no joke.
For when I'm "here" I'm wondering if I really should be "there" And, when I try to think it through, I haven't got a prayer!
Often times, I walk into a room, say "what am I here for?"
I wrack my brain, but all in vain, a zero, is my score.
At times I put something away, where it is safe, but, Gee!
The person it is safest from is generally, me!
When shopping I may see someone, say "Hi" and have a chat,
Then, when the person walks away, I ask myself "who was that?" Yes, my forgetter's getting better, while my rememberer is broke, And it's driving me plumb crazy and that isn't any joke.
There's nothing the matter with me,
I'm just as healthy as can be,
I have arthritis in both knees,
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.
My pulse is weak, my blood is thin,
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in
All my teeth have had to come out,
And my diet I hate to think about.
I'm overweight and I can't get thin,
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
Arch supports I need for my feet.
Or I wouldn't be able to go out in the street.
Sleep is denied me night after night,
But every morning I find I'm all right.
My memory's failing, my head's in a spin.
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
The moral of this as the tale unfolds,
Is that for you and me, who are growing old.
It is better to say "I'm fine" with a grin,
Than to let people know the shape we are in.
Just a line to say to say I'm living, that I'm not among the dead,
Though I'm getting more forgetful, and mixed up in my head;
I've got used to my arthritis, to my dentures I'm resigned.
I can manage my bifocals, but, Oh God, I miss my mind.
For sometimes I don't remember, at the bottom of the stairs
If I was going up for something, or if I just came down from there.
And before the fridge so often, my poor mind is filled with doubt -
Have I put the food away... or come to take some out?
There are times when it is dark, and my nightcap's on my head
I don't know if I'm retiring, or just getting out of bed;
So if it's my turn to write you, there's no need in getting sore.
I may think that I have written, and I don't want to be a bore.
Please remember that I love you, and I wish that you were here;
But now it's nearly mail time, so I must say goodbye, my dear.
Now here I stand beside the mailbox, With my face so very red,
Instead of mailing you my letter, I have opened it instead!
