Old age, he doesn't come alone,
He brings his friends along.
His best friend is Arthritic Bones,
Who bites you when it's damp,
And no one wants to hear your moans.
Old age reminds you when it's cold
When biting chill winds rage.
You can never get your revenge,
So, it's not good to hate,
And there's nobody to avenge.
Let old age be over quickly,
Starved of its oxygen,
Then its sting can no longer harm.
That's the final revenge.
And the only way to disarm.
The chill in the air in London certainly would not help that arthritis. Not a lot to look forward too. In Australia some retirees travel to the warmer climates in caravan's or winabago's to avoid our winter. Thank you David. Stay warm! Happy Christmas too.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Aging! ! ! ! Growing old! ! ! ! Muse of old age; Pacts and facts. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.