Going Going Gone

My Get Up and Go

Old age is golden, or so I’ve heard said,
But sometimes I wonder, as I crawl into bed,
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
My eyes on a table until I wake up.
As sleep dims my vision, I say to myself;
Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?
But, though nations are warring, and Congress is vexed,
We’ll still stick around to see what happens next!

How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up-and-go has got up and went!
But, in spite of it all I’m able to grin
And think of the places my getup has been!

When I was young my slippers were red;
I could kick up my heels right over my head.
When I was older my slippers were blue,
But still I could dance the whole night through.
Now I am older, my slippers are black
I huff to the store and puff my way back.
But never you laugh; I don’t mind at all;
I’d rather be huffing than not puffing at all.

How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up-and-go has got up and went!
But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin
And think of the places my getup has been!

I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
Open the paper, and read the obits.
If I’m not there, I know I’m not dead,
So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed!

How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up-and-go has got up and went!
But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin
And think of the places my getup has been!

~anonymous~