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Lament
Of a middle aged man.

(Middle aged?; Ha!  Who do you think you’re kidding?)

Oh what is life without a care,
until I found I’d lost my hair.
Look in the mirror, squint and grin,
I see again that double chin.
Put on my specs; thank god they’re free;
without them I just cannot see.
Too little walking, too much telly;
no wonder that enormous belly.

My arms wont lift, my knees wont bend,
I get to thinking , where’ll it end?
I ponder more, life’s weary knocks;  
its far to far to put on socks.
And then - one night - mans special task;  
Oh cruel fate - no need to ask !
So what is left, to please this man,
now a septuagenarian.

But then I find that there’s no blame,
my lady loves me just the same.
I look around, what do I see?  
There’s many others just like me.
No rush to work, no ‘larm bells ring;
do what I like, most anything.
Not finished yet, ambitious still,
no way am I beyond that hill.

So mark you well, Ill keep on trying,
not for me the thought of dying.
Until they say, and mean it well;
that this man’s got a tale to tell.
For even though the bible says,
three score and ten will end your days,
Life’s not yet done because you see,
I’m aiming for my century.