Getting Older

Getting Older

MissT

Getting older, getting wiser,
Life’s a blur, my eyes can’t see,
The small print feels like witchcraft now,
And predictive text hates me.

The telly’s got more channels
Than I can blink and play,
My phone rings, then my watch kicks off,
And somehow I’m on a three-way.

The stairs present a challenge,
Going down’s as bad as up,
My hips all creak, my knees all crack,
And my feet shout, “Oi, what’s up?”

The sofa swallowed my backside,
Now rising’s not a skill I own,
I’d buy one of those rrise recliners
But I fear I’d never get it home.

Life here in the slow lane
Ain’t all it’s cracked up to be,
But at least I still tie my trainers up
Even if one doesn’t belong to me!!