There is nothing the matter with me. <br />I'm as healthy as I can be. <br />I have arthritis in both my knees <br />And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze. <br /> <br />My pulse is weak, and my blood is thin <br />But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in. <br />Arch supports I have for my feet <br />Or I wouldn't be able to be on the street. <br /> <br />Sleep is denied me night after night, <br />But every morning I find I'm all right. <br />My memory is failing, my head's in a spin <br />But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in. <br /> <br />The moral is this, as my tale I unfold, <br />That for you and me who are growing old, <br />It's better to say 'I'm fine' with a grin <br />Than to let folks know the shape we are in. <br /> <br />How do I know that my youth is all spent? <br />Well, my 'get up and go' just got up and went. <br />But I really don't mind when I think with a grin <br />Of all the grand places my 'get up' has been. <br /> <br />Old age is golden, I've heard it said; <br />But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed <br />With my ears in the drawer my teeth in a cup, <br />My eyes on the table until I wake up. <br /> <br />Ere sleep overtakes me, I say to myself, <br />'Is there anything else I could lay on the shelf? ' <br />When I was young my slippers were red, <br />I could kick my heels over my head <br /> <br />When I was older my slippers were blue, <br />But I still could dance the whole night through. <br />Now I am old, my slippers are black, <br />I walk to the store and puff my way back. <br /> <br />I get up each morning and dust off my wits <br />And pick up the paper and read the obits. <br />If my name is still missing, I know I'm not dead <br />So I fix me some breakfast and go back to bed.<br /><br />Bridgid Patrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/agnes-has-aged/
