Fifty Eight

Today I pass from fifty seven to fifty eight, and to mark the occasion here is a ditty what I wrote.

I Wonder

I don’t remember getting old
It’s crept up on me
I wonder why I cannot see
And have to sit down for a pee
I wonder why my joints all ache
And what was hard is soft
And why I can’t run up the stairs
Or climb into the loft

I wonder why that some words seem to be in a foreign language
And when I write I wonder why it reads as utter garbage
I wonder why that young girls seem
To be from another planet
I wonder why my poor brain feels
As if it’s made of granite
I wonder why my hands don’t work
To me that’s not an ageing perk



I wonder why that half the time
I am so bloody confused
I wonder why my ego is so regularly bruised
I wonder why the car’s so low and I cannot get in it
And then it makes me wonder if
I should admit that I am getting on a bit
And I wonder why ageing is so cruel
And will I end up with a chin that’s caked in drool

But then I wonder that, if I was young again
Would I know what I know now
Would I have distinguished looks
And furrows in my brow
Would I have read all those books
And used my knowledge for the best
Would my life have been so blessed
With love that filled my breast

And so I keep on wondering why life is passing by
And each and every morning I wake up with a sigh
I wonder why I bother and then I can remember
That I am now in August not yet in my December
That life is full and must be lived and that I survived
Till now at least with luck and friends, my soul it is revived
And then I think of those that have left me all alone
And wonder where all those good decades have gone

And even now I wonder what the future times will bring
Will my life be full of fun, will I have a fling or is my life set in cement
Will I keep on writing or even keep on fighting
Will I make a difference and do I really care
Will my life just fade away proportionate to my hair
I wonder why a lot these days, it seems that I can’t help it
It must be age I wonder now but one thing is for certain
My blogs will live, and I will live, it’s not the final curtain.

Angus

AnglishLit

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