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 grinwhen 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 |
