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The Joys of Getting Old

A Lighthearted Humorous Poem About Reaching the Senior Years

By Hazel ColbyPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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It's a nightmare, is getting old,

suddenly more vulnerable to the common cold.

Hair starts to thin and turns a delicate grey,

but you're yet to go bald, at least not today.

Gravity makes your bits start to sag,

suddenly your favourite tipple comes from a bag.

You get all nostalgic about times that were,

but what you did yesterday is a fuzzy blur.

Your face looks a bit like a dried out prune,

and you can't get by without a kip after noon.

It becomes a worry where you'll find another loo,

You're a little concerned in case it seeps through.

The text on the page is a jumbled mass,

ask your folks for a magnifying glass.

Your auditory aid's off, you simply can't hear

at least from loud noises you've nothing to fear.

With your pension in pocket, you're feeling well-paid.

It's time to go shopping for the next mobility aid!

A top of the range zimmer, with go faster stripes,

But can the assistant deal with your gripes?

The bingo hall is the place to be, innit?

You want the jackpot, it's your turn to win it.

You like the old-fashioned trip to the sea,

as long as you can find somewhere to park for free.

You're not good with technology, like computers and phones,

You've got aches and pains in all of your bones.

Because you're hard of hearing, you often mumble,

and frequently give over to a good old grumble.

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