My Latter Years Poem by Phil Soar

As I make my way through latter years
No matter how I treat my fears
The same thing happens every day
I watch my nose hair turning grey
It grows so fast It needs a comb
Or it will curl and start to roam
I swear If I don't keep it trim
It'll tap on my teeth to let it in
And the hair that blooms out of my ears
Is longer than my age in years
A pity then that my head lacks same
I think that it's my age to blame
My pubic hair is more refined
Unlike the hair on my behind
And although my frequent farts are wet
They haven't stuck the hairs up yet
Let's hope with the help of some tidyness
I won't scare the carer when I get dressed