Author: Constance
O’Neon, 1953
There is nothing the matter with me
I'm as healthy as can be.
I have arthritis in both my knees
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 go on the street.
Sleep is denied me night after night,
But every morning I find I'm all right,
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 tale I unfold,
That for you and me who are growing old,
It's better to say, "I'm fine" with a grin,
Than to let folks know the shape we're in.
How do I know that my youth is all spent?
Well my 'get up and go' has got up and went.
But I don't really mind when I think with a grin,
Of all the grand places 'my get up' has been.
Old age is golden, I've heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed,
With my ears in the drawer, my teeth in the cup,
My eyes on the table until I wake up.
Ere sleep overtakes me, I think 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 got 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.
I get up each day and dust off my wits,
And pick up the paper and read the 'obits'.
If my name is still missing, I know I'm not dead -
So I have a good breakfast and go back to bed.
