Old age is golden, I have heard it said, But sometimes I wonder as I go to bed -- My ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup, My eyes on the table till I get up.
Ere sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself, Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf? But, I am happy to say, as I close the door. My friends are the same as in days of yore.
When I was young, my slippers were red. I could kick my heels fight over my head. When I got older, my slippers were blue, But I still could dance the whole night through.
Now I am old, my slippers are black, So I walk to the corner and puff my way back. So the reason I know that my youth is spent, Is 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 places my 'get up and go' has been. Since I have retired from life's competition, I busy myself with a complete repetition.
I get up each morning, 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. (Author unknown)
