I can’t see for the life of me,
What’s the use in getting old.
I need reading glasses when I read and write,
And my bones hurt with the cold.
My hair once auburn now is white,
And receding every day.
my hearing’s not what it once was,
And my beard’s a shade of grey.
My bones hurt when I rise at dawn,
And when I go to bed.
I wonder if things will improve,
On the day that life has fled.
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