There is nothing the matter with me, 

I’m as healthy as I can be.

and when I talk – I talk with a wheeze,

my pulse is weak, and my blood is thin,

but – I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

 

Arch supports I have for my feet,

or I wouldn’t be able to be out on the street.

Sleep is denied me night after night,

but every morning I find I’m alright.

My memory is failing, my head’s in a spin,

but – I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

 

The moral is this – as my tail I unfold,

that for you and me who are getting old,

it’s better to say “I’m fine” with a grin,

than to let folks know the shape we are in.

 

How do I know that my youth is all spent?

well, my “get up and go” has got up and went,

but I really don’t mind when I think with a grin,

of the grand places my “got up” has bin.

 

Old age is golden I’ve heard it said,

but sometimes I wonder as I get into bed,

with my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,

my specs on a table until I wake up,

‘ere sleep overtakes me I say to myself,

is there anything else I could lay on the shelf?

 

When I was young my slippers were red,

I could kick my heels right over my head,

when I was older my slippers were blue,

but I could still dance the whole night through,

now I am old my slippers are black,

I walk to the shop and puff my way back.

 

I get each morning and dust of my wits,

and pick up the paper and read the ‘Obits’,

if my name is still missing I know I’m not dead,

and so I have breakfast and – go back to bed.

 

unknown female author.