He really won't admit it
But he's past three score and ten,
Yet his brain remains quite active
So he remembers when
The body did most everything
A young man hoped it would.
Which is not to say it always did,
Everything it should !
And once he drove Mercedes
Or cars of sim'lar fame,
But now he goes more slowly
On his trusty Zimmer frame.
A wheelchair sits awaiting,
For trips of greater length
But he needs someone to push him
For he doesn't have the strength .
The bath is now redundant
'Cos he can't get in or out
And when they said "a lifter"
He really had a doubt.
So it's "crab into the shower, old boy
And grab those hand rails tight,
Just hope to God that all goes well
And you can stay upright !"
Now he has a female helper
To wash him, front and rear,
Long gone the days of modesty,
No blushing, never fear.
She'll dry and dress the body,
With firm but gentle touch
And then he steers his walker
To that chair he needs so much.
And if he makes it safely,
To that electric lifting chair,
He recalls his friends were joking
"He deserves the Electric Chair."
But he halts that pun, and their fun,
As they depart along their way
By pointing out that they could be,
Just the same, some Day.
So another day just passes,
With dependency the norm,
No pill or potion known to man,
To aid the aging form.
Yet he prefers his life, with all its strife,
And help from kind 'full timers,'
To the sort of life that he could lead
With "A touch of the Alzheimers."
For he's aware of folks who care,
Of tears and smiles and mirth,
Of bills and pills and thrills and spills
And just what things are worth,
The good the bad, the deliv'ry lad,
And how many beans make five,
Sure all those things, that each day brings,
To the mentally alive.
