My pulse is weak, my blood is thin,
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
My uppers are gone, and had come out,
And my no frill diet, we wont talk about!

I'm slightly overweight and I can't get thin,
But pleasingly plump, that's shape I'm in.
The Gel-inserts, are for my feet,
Or I wouldn't be able to go out in the street.

Sleep is denied me night after night,
But every morning I find, that I'm still alright.
My memory's failing, my head's in a spin,
But I'm very well, for the shape I am in.

Old age is "GOLDEN", so I've heard it said.
But sometimes I wonder, as I go to bed.
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
And my glasses on a shelf, until I get up.

But really, I don't mind, when I think with a grin,
Of all the places my get-up has been.
I arise each morning and dust off my wits,
Pick up the paper and read the obits.

If my name is missing, I'm therefore not dead,
So I eat a good breakfast and jump back into bed.
As the moral of this tale slowley unfolds,
You and me are the ones, who are growing old!

The reason I know my youth has been spent,
Is my get-up-and-go has got-up-and-went!
So it's better to say "I'm fine!" with a grin,
Than to let people know; the shape we are in!