An Ode To Old Age
There's quite an art to falling apart as the years go by,
And life doesn't begin at 60. That's a big fat lie.
My hair's getting thinner, my body is not;
The few teeth I have are beginning to rot.
I smell of Vick's-Vapo-Rub, not Chanel # 5;
My new pacemaker's all that keeps me alive.
When asked of my past, every detail I'll know,
But what was I doing 10 minutes ago?
Well, you get the idea, what more can I say?
I'm off to read the obituary, like I do every day;
If my names not there, I'll once again start -
Perfecting the art of falling apart
When I was young I was called a rugged individualist
When I was in my fifties I was considered eccentric
Here I am doing and saying the same things I did back then and now I'm labelled senile
