How did I ever get to be seventy one?
When did I get to weigh almost a ton?
How is it my wrinkles have wrinkles?
Why do I have a back that now crinkles?
Who is that old lady in my mirror?
If it's me I think I need a beer!
Why do I have the spirit of a teen
But my hearing is no longer keen?
I am no longer speed-walking
My feet really are squawking.
I now have a middle-aged spread
And my ample bottom feels like lead.
This little ditty is penned in jest
To make you smile is my quest
The cycles of my own life amuse me
Of being silly you may accuse me.
Now that I have lived all of these years
I think I'll have just as many beers
To allay all of my fears,
Stave off life's mournful tears
and bring on lots of happy cheers!
Wooo HOOOO!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's a wonderful poem, some questions you asked here, but the life of a middle-aged will not fail this time; Good write!