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Retirement
Poems
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Golden
Old Age
"How
do I know that my youth's all spent?
Well, my get up and go has got up and went.
But in spite of it all, I'm able to 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 get into bed.
My years in a drawer and tea in a cup,
My eyes on the table until I wake up.
The sleep
dims my eyes, I say to myself --
'Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?'
And I am 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 of my heels right over my head,
When I grew older my slippers were blue,
But still I could dance the whole night through.
Now I
am old, my slippers are black.
I walked to the store and puff my way back;
The reason I know my youth is all spent,
My get up and go has got up and went.
But I
really don't mind, when I think with a grin
Of all the grand places my get up has been.
Since I have retired from life's competition,
I busy myself with complete repetition.
I get
up each morning, dust off my wits,
Pick up my paper, and read the "Obits,"
If my name is missing, I know I'm not dead.
So I eat a good breakfast, and go back to bed."
Retirement
- The Best Days Of Your Life
By Josie
Whitehead
Goodbye
to work, you're on a high - it's the best day of your
life!
You gladly hand the reins over - goodbye to toil and strife.
When morning comes, you lie in bed and you look up at
the ceiling -
There's no-one here to harrass you - I know just how you're
feeling.
The sun shines through the window, you hear the clatter
of some feet -
It's people who are off to work, you can hear them in
the street.
Within you comes a warming glow - your new life just is
starting.
There's cards from many work-friends who were sad at your
departing.
But you must arise, get dressed and out - there's no time
left to lose.
Make the most of it, the day is yours - just do exactly
as you choose.
Just why should you feel guilty on the best day of your
life?
"Because I said a cheerio to my poor, still working
wife".
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IF MY BODY WERE A CAR
If my body were a car, this is the time I would
be thinking about
trading it in for a newer model. I've got bumps and dents
and
scratches in my finish and my paint job is getting a little
dull,
but that's not the worst of it.
My headlights are out of focus and it's especially
hard to see
things up close. My traction is not as graceful as it
once was.
I slip and slide and skid and bump into things even in
the best of
weather.
My whitewalls are stained with varicose veins. It takes
me hours to
reach my maximum speed. My fuel rate burns inefficiently.
But here's the worst of it -- Almost every time I sneeze,
cough or
sputter.....
either my radiator leaks or my exhaust backfires!
I'M NOT OLD, I'M JUST MATURE
Today at the drugstore, the clerk was a gent.
From my purchase he took off 10 percent.
I asked for the cause of a lesser amount;
And he answered, It's the Seniors Discount."
I went to McDonald's for a burger and fries;
And there, once again, got quite a surprise.
The clerk poured some coffee which he handed to me.
He said, "For you seniors, the coffee is free."
Understand -- I'm not old -- I'm merely mature.
But some things are changing, temporarily, I'm sure.
The newspaper print gets smaller each day,
And people speak softer , can't hear what they say.
My teeth are my own (I have the receipt),
and my glasses identify people I meet.
Oh, I've slowed down a bit , not a lot, I am sure.
You see, I'm not old ... I'm only mature.
The gold in my hair has been bleached by the sun.
You should see all the damage that chlorine has done.
Washing my hair has turned it all white,
Calling it blond is just about right.
My car is all paid for, not a nickel is owed. Yet a kid
yells, "Old duffer, get off of the road!"
My car has no scratches, not even a dent. Still I get
all that guff from a punk who's "Hell bent."
My friends all get older ... much faster than me.
They seem much more wrinkled, from what I can see.
I've got "character lines," not wrinkles, for
sure, But don't call me old : just call me mature.
The steps in the houses they're building today
Are so high that they take your breath all away;
And the streets are much steeper than 10 years ago. That
should explain why my walking is slow.
I'm keeping up on what's hip and what's new,
And I know I can still dance a mean boogaloo.
I'm still in the running, in this I'm secure,
I'm not really old , I'm only mature.
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