Golden Old Age

“How do I know that my youth’s all spent?
Well, my get up and go has got up and went.
But in spite of it all, I’m able to grin
When I recall where my get up has been.
Old age is golden, so I’ve heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder, when I get into bed.
My years in a drawer and tea in a cup,
My eyes on the table until I wake up.
The sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself –
‘Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?’
And I am happy to say as I close my door,
My friends are the same, perhaps even more.
When I was young, my slippers were red,
I could kick of my heels right over my head,
When I grew older my slippers were blue,
But still I could dance the whole night through.
Now I am old, my slippers are black.
I walked to the store and puff my way back;
The reason I know my youth is all spent,
My get up and go has got up and went.
But I really don’t mind, when I think with a grin
Of all the grand places my get up has been.
Since I have retired from life’s competition,
I busy myself with complete repetition.
I get up each morning, dust off my wits,
Pick up my paper, and read the “Obits,”
If my name is missing, I know I’m not dead.
So I eat a good breakfast, and go back to bed.”


Email this poem to your friend Email this poem to your friend

Related Poems

One Response to “Golden Old Age”

  1. Jean Suttle:

    When I was a child in the 50’s I remember my Great Aunt reciting this poem. Her name was Alice Throop-Springer, she was a tiny hunch backed sweet lady with always a great sense of humor. I had always thought she had written it and it was published in an Onaway, Michigan newspaper that she had sent it to my grandmother.

Leave a Reply