August 25, 2005

• I remember reading this poem in the newspaper when I was very young.  Thought it was funny then.  I think it is quite true now.  Enjoy!

  
  

  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 recall where my get up has been.
  
  Old age is golden-so I've heard it said-
  but sometimes I wonder when I get into bed,
  with my ears in a drawer and my teeth in a cup,
  my eyes on the table until I wake up.
  
  Ere sleep dims my eyes I say to myself,
  "Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?"
  And I'm happy to say as I close my door,
  my friends are the same, perhaps even more.
  
  When I was young, my slippers were red,
  I could pick up my heels right over my head.
  When I grew older, my slippers were blue,
  but still I could dance the whole night through.
  
  But now I am old, 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 I really 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 accommodate myself with complete repetition.
  
  I get up each morning, and dust off my wits,
  pick up my 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
  

  • 6:34 am
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