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