My Toilet Regime Poem by Phil Soar

I close my eyes and count to ten
And then I just wake up again
I'm sixty five with a well worn bladder
And my toilet regime could not be sadder

Six times a night, or maybe more
I tread the hall to the bathroom door
And I dribble a bit, and then revue
And wonder if I should number two

It comes with age, my doctor said
So now when I go off to bed
I take a bucket and some tissue too
And lie there feeling old and blue