How do I know when my youth is all sent?
When, my get up and go, has gotten up and went,
In spite of this problem, I can still grin,
When memories come fondly,
Of where, my get up has been,
Old age is golden, so I’ve heard said,
But, sometimes I wonder, as I get into bed,
With my hair in a drawer, and my teeth in a cup,
My eyes are laid on the table, for when I get up,
Back when I was young, my slippers were red,
I could kick my heels, way up over my head,
When I was older, my slippers were blue,
I loved to dance, the whole night thru,
Now at old age, my slippers are black,
I walk to the store, I puff my way back,
The reason I know, my youth is all spent,
My get up and go, has gotten up and went,
I think most fondly, of a youth well spent,
Of all the grand places, my life has sent,
Where get up and go is alive,
Before life took a golden decent,
Retired from life’s competition,
Complete repetition has set in,
I get up each morning, and dust off my wit,
Pick up the paper, and read the obits,
If my name is missing, I know I not dead,
The rest of the morning, a poem, I try to submit,
Then I eat a good breakfast, before I get back in bed.
Howard Kern
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-golden-years-4/
