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Pondering Old 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 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