I think I'm past my sell by date,
I've been taken off display,
and put on the shelf as cheap goods,
marked down for final day.
I know I'm bruised and battered,
and I don't taste quite as good,
but I don't think it really matters,
at least I don't think it should.
I know that I'm not young and fresh
and I've put on a bit of weight,
but shelf life is for seventy years,
and I'm only fifty eight.
So if you are looking for a good deal
some one who won't let you down,
look in the bargain bucket,
for the best sale in the town.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.