My get-up and go has got up and went.
How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up and go had got up and went
but in spite of it all.
I can say with a grin, when I recall where
my get-up has been.
"Old age is golden," so I've heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder, when I go to bed,
With my ears in the drawer and my teeth in a cup,
My eyes on the table, until I wake up.
Ere sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself,
Is there any thing else I should lay on the shelf?
And I'm happy to say, as I close my door,
My friends are the same, perhaps even more.
When I was young, my slippers were red,
I could kick up my heels, right over my head.
When I grew older, my slippers were blue,
But I could dance the whole night through.
But now, I'm old my slippers are black,
I walk to the store and puff my way back,
But I really don't mind when I think with a grin,
Of all the grand places, my get-up had been.
Since I have retired from life's competition
I busy myself with complete repetition.
I get up each morning and dust off my bitts,
Pick up my paper and read the "obits".
If my name is missing, I know I'm not dead.
So I get a good breakgast and go back to bed.
~Author Unknown~