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 won’t lift, my knees won’t bend, I get to thinking , where’ll it end?
I ponder more, life’s weary knocks;  it’s far to far to put on socks.
And then - one night - man’s 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, I‘ll 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.