When I was young, I wanted to be old

I’d like to be told
No, you’re not getting old,
That I’m still a fine figure
Full of bright charm and vigour.

But the truth is , I’m not so blest
Can’t run for a bus
Without pains in my chest
So I walk, well that’s a plus.

If I sit for some time
Then get up to go
My knees creak, quite loud
With no longer, a sylphlike, flow.

I never used to be shaky
That’s come on me fast
Confusion is concerning
Oh, how long will it last?

In my head, I’m so skilled
But any ability is shot
I need my body to rebuild
Not issue a unilateral boycott.

It is really unfair
To be quite this way
To wake with, cramp in the night
Well that can’t be right!

Will someone please, invent a pill
To make me thirty again
Fit and healthy, would be such a thrill
I’d never need to complain.

I guess I must learn
To laugh at my frailty
To celebrate, things I can still do
And see my future time through.

That might be short or it may be long
Best, not to moan to much
Stay as myself, with the common-touch
While moaning loudly, “It’s all too wrong”!

Mike

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Autobiography, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.