These Days - Conversation Piece

These days (I grumble), people mumble.

And why, I say, is print so grey?

Electric light so much less bright?

The stair too steep? The bath too deep?

Though not, I think, especially stout

I have a problem getting out

(And how degrading, don’t you feel,

To have to turn around and kneel?)

Wherever nowadays I go

The chair I sit in is too low.

My legs are weak, my arms are weedy,

I’m often feeling rather seedy.

I’ve aches and pains in funny places;

I can’t bend down to do my laces.

I have to get up in the night,

So where’s the loo? And where’s the light?

I can no longer cope with gin

Because it gives me fearful in-

digestion,

And coffee late at night, I fear,

Will banish slumber at the mere

  suggestion.

Why is it that I can’t remember

Was it in May, or in September

I last saw Jane? Or is it Grace?

(Forget the name - but know the face).

When I produce a joke, or pun,

Or tale of anything I’ve done,

My children say, “We’ve heard that one.

You told it when you came to stay,

And then again, last Saturday”.

You’re bored to death with all this chat?

You know that you are not like that?

You pity my decrepit state?

Well, lucky you….. but just you wait!

Celia Sherman

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