Poems about Growing Old (and songs)

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: GUEST,.gargoyle
Date: 20 Mar 16 - 04:35 PM

Simon and Garfunkle (1968)


"Bookends"

Time it was
And what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence
A time of confidences

Long ago it must be
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you.

Sincerely,
Gargoyle

I find myself trapped in the corner, the corner I accused so many of taking...I am growing old.

Subject: Lyr Add: USED UP OLD MAN
From: kendall
Date: 20 Mar 16 - 04:12 PM

Here's one that crept up on me. It could be a song of course. Tune of Betsy from Pike.

USED UP OLD MAN

There's no hope at all for a used up old man
And the older I get the more used up I am
But friends and relations all scoff when I say
"It's too many birthdays that made me this way"

It all started back there when I lost my voice
That was the end of my touring, of course
Now I'm losing the hearing in my left ear
And, finally, arthritis is too much to bear.

The first thing I lost was my ability to sing
I got so depressed about this whole thing
It was a rough fall and a hard row to hoe
To end up sounding like an aging tame crow.

But the thing I miss most from my lost former glory
Are the dearest of friends who carried my story
Our good times together on this earth are done
Their bodies now gone, but our souls ever one

But this story won't end on a note of sad loss
You'll be tempted to think I've been hitting the sauce.
Most parts are still working, I'm still of good cheer
There'll be no complaining 'cause hey, I'm still here!

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 19 Mar 16 - 04:33 PM

... & just found this one on my computer -- I wrote it fairly recently but had forgotten all about it. Bit doggerel really; but seems to me quite a good question at that —

Lines at fourscore'n'three

When am I
Going to die?
Who can know
When I'll go?

Michael Grosvenor Myer
    8 October 2015

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 19 Mar 16 - 11:08 AM

The following, which I wrote after my first wife's suicide due to her increasing degeneration thru Parkinson's disease, being one of those situations to which old people are frequently subject, might perhaps fit into this thread which came back into my mind thru some train of thought:-

POST-PARKINSONIAN

Trying to keep going

In the teeth
0f the lethal
Mix of grief
And relief



Michael Grosvenor Myer

       15℔ May 2008

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: henryclem
Date: 05 Jan 10 - 11:47 AM

You can hear my song "Toys in the Attic" on Myspace -
http://myspace.com/henryclements

Phil Hare did a beautiful version of this on his 2003 album "Broken Timing" which brings out the poetry far better than I manage!

So many fine contributions to this thread, though!

Henry

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Dave Roberts
Date: 04 Jan 10 - 05:37 PM

Charley,

That's a great poem (Mariquita).

And, without (I hope) starting to become tiresome, this one reminds me of Rudyard Kipling.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 04 Jan 10 - 05:12 PM

"When I'm 64"
"Silver Threads amongst the Gold"

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Suegorgeous
Date: 04 Jan 10 - 05:10 PM

Awwww thanks Kat... :) glad you liked it.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Little Robyn
Date: 04 Jan 10 - 02:57 PM

Pete Seeger's Old Devil Time
Robyn

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Charley Noble
Date: 04 Jan 10 - 09:07 AM

I can't resist posting one C. Fox Smith poem here about an old sailor reminiscing:

Poem by C. Fox Smith, FULL SAIL, pp. 108-110 © 1926

MARIQUITA

Old man Time, 'e's wrote his log up in the wrinkles on my brow,
And there ain't that much about me as a girl 'ud take to now;
For I've changed beyond all knowing from the chap I used to be,
When I can remember Mariquita, as was mighty fond o' me!

I can shut my eyes and see it just as plain as yesterday,
See the harbour and the mountains and the shipping in the bay,
And the town as looked like heaven to us shellbacks fresh from sea
And I can remember Mariquita, as thought a deal o' me!

I can hear the chiming mule-bells, and a stave o' Spanish song,
And the blessed old guitarros as kep' tinkling all night long;
Hear the dusty palm trees stirring, taste the vino flat and sour,
And I can remember Mariquita, and her white skirts like a flower.

But it's years now since I've seen her, if she's died I never knew,
Or got old and fat and ugly, same as Dagoes mostly do;
And it's maybe better that way, for there's nothing left but change,
And the ships I knew all going, and the ports I knew grown strange,
And the chaps I knew all altered, like the chap I used to be,
But I can remember Mariquita, and she's always young for me.

I've adapted this poem for singing, changing some words and adding a couple of lines; here's a link to how I sing it: Click here for lyrics and MP3!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 11:22 PM

Akenaton - Don't worry: see my reply to Dave above. Come back from the Arctic snows!

Suegorgeous - thank you; & on Valerie's behalf also.

Michael

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: katlaughing
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 11:11 PM

Suegorgeous, that is wonderful. I LOVE the way it reads so well out loud. That's always my test of my own writing...does it work well out loud...yours really scans well. Thanks.


Speaking of poetry lovers, some may enjoy Mudcat Poetry Corner.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Joe_F
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 06:14 PM

CharleyNoble: The original, I presume, is The Good Boy, which also has its charms.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Young Buchan
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 04:57 PM

This is Alistair Claire's Old Man's Song. It doesn't seem to be on DT but I've pasted it over from an old thread on the car industry (Sorry Joe O. but I can't do clickies)


When I was young and married my wife
You couldn't get a job to save your life;
With my wife and son at either hand
For two long years I travelled the land:
And I reckon I've served my time.

My shoes were out. My coat was torn.
And then we had our daughter born.
But I found this job and I earned our bread,
Clothes for our back, a roof for our heads:
And I reckon I've served my time.

They were cut-throat years - you were fighting your mate
With another man waiting for your job at the gate.
If the foreman didn't like your face that day
You got no work,you got no pay:
And I reckon I've served my time.

Then we joined the Union and learned to strike.
It was six hard weeks but we won that fight.
Work to our hands and a worthwhile wage _
We were waking up a golden age:
And I reckon I've served my time.

But the young men now they dress so fine;
They don't know how we fought for this line.
They're getting too young to know my face;
And their work comes to me at the Devil's pace.
And I reckon I've served my time.


There is also Banks of the Dee. That IS in the DT but there are several. You want the one that starts 'Last Saturday night on the Banks of the Dee/I met an old man in distress I could see.'

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Dave Roberts
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 04:49 PM

Akenaton,

No problem.

It's very nice to come across people who appreciate fine poetry.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: akenaton
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 04:28 PM

Loved it "Gorgeous"

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: akenaton
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 04:26 PM

Apologies Michael......how stupid of me!
Must have been captivated by the poems.

and sorry for throwing you Dave....... "I am just going outside.... and may be some time" :0(

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Gurney
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 04:03 PM

I only have the title for mine, yet. 'Pills and Pillows.'

John Williamson does a lovely encouraging song 'Purple Roses.'
It's on his "The Way It Is' CD.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Suegorgeous
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 03:54 PM

Thanks Akenaton :)

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Suegorgeous
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 03:53 PM

MtheGm

Great poems! she was a fine writer :)

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 03:37 PM

Whatever Dave - not to worry: think you might have confused Charley's OP about his mother with my first post, perhaps? But certainly no offence. Glad you liked my Valerie's poems anyhow. Interested in your Betjeman comparison: I think that certainly an influence in Nocturne indeed, & I am sure Valerie would have agreed.

Best - Michael

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Dave Roberts
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 03:00 PM

Sorry again.

I meant an earlier posting to this thread.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Dave Roberts
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 02:30 PM

Sorry,

I was taking my information from an earlier thread.

Your wife was a very talented poet, and I know you must be very proud of her.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Bonnie Shaljean
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 02:08 PM

From Morituri Salutamus

Whatever poet, orator, or sage
May say of it, old age is still old age
It is the waning, not the crescent moon
The dusk of evening, not the blaze of noon
It is not strength, but weakness; not desire
But its surcease; not the fierce heat of fire
The burning and consuming element
But that of ashes and of embers spent
In which some living sparks we still discern
Enough to warm, but not enough to burn

What then? Shall we sit idly down and say
The night hath come; it is no longer day?
The night hath not yet come; we are not quite
Cut off from labour by the failing light
Something remains for us to do or dare
Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear
Not Oedipus Coloneus or Greek Ode
Or tales of pilgrims that one morning rode
Out of the gateway of the Tabard Inn,
But other something, would we but begin
For age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress
And as the evening twilight fades away
The sky is filled with stars invisible by day

             --- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: open mike
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 01:55 PM

hence, the head-standing....Father William by Lewis Carroll

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x1B-YjgbHsM

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 01:44 PM

Ake & Dave = thank you — but my mother was called Bertha Myer & died in 1967.

Valerie Grosvenor Myer [1935-2007], author of these poems, was, as I thought everyone would have realised, my WIFE of half-a-century who died 2 years ago.

I am 77. How on earth should I have had a mother born in 1935?

Michael

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Dave Roberts
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 12:04 PM

MtheGM,

Another quick note of appreciation for your mother's poems.

'Nocturne', in particular, reminds me of the work of the late Sir John Betjeman.

And poetry, in my book, doesn't get any better than that.

Thanks.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: akenaton
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 11:14 AM

M the GM.....the two poems you posted are truly beautiful.

Your mother must have been an exceptional lady. I would love to hear more.....Ake

Just read another beauty from Sue above.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Marje
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 10:30 AM

One of my favouriste quotations (not quite a poem but as good as) has been attributed to various people, icnluding Nadine Stair. There are longer versions but this one says it all for me:

"If I had my life over again, I'd like to make more mistakes next time. I'd relax. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I would take fewer things seriously. I would take more chances. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less beans. I would perhaps have more actual troubles, but I would have fewer imaginary ones.

You see, I'm one of those people who live sensibly and sanely hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I've had my moments, and if I had to do it all again I'd have more of them. In fact, I'd have nothing else. Just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day."

Or on a lighter note there's Pam Ayres' "Sexy at Sixty":
http://www.itsbullfrog.com/guests/ayres/sixty.htm

Marje

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Suegorgeous
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 10:13 AM

Crone

In the safe lands of my youth and imagination
I, lush and fertile, bonded instinctively with the ripe soft hills, the thick green swathes, the corn-swollen fields
They and I, all blossoming on the brink of birth, secure in our sure immortality,
Dreamed as one.

Now, each summer, hills and fields and fruit swell and ripen and blossom anew,
While I - adrift in this slowly unravelling other world of shrinking wrinkling leaking creaking breaking aching -
Take the burning descent from bright motherhood
Into the dark grinning chasm of the crone,
And try on her bones.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: beeliner
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 09:38 AM

When I was young this was my cry,
"O Lord, why must I ever die?"

But now I'm old and sore oppressed.
My cry is, "Lord, oh give me rest!"

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 01:29 AM

Katlaughing - thank you so much for your kind words about my darling Valerie's poems; your appreciation means a great deal to me. - Michael

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: open mike
Date: 03 Jan 10 - 12:45 AM

Leadfingers...that is the poem i would post. thanks for getting it posted before I got here..and happy birthday to your beautiful Mom!

Here is a poem my great uncle used to recite...Get Up And Go
and it is sung here by a young Pete Seeger over 40 years ago.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3J0Q5SMTEM0

Subject: Lyr Add: THE REBEL AGAINST MORALITY
From: Charley Noble
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 06:38 PM

What a splendid harvest!

And I will mention that folks here love her poem.

Leadfingers-

The post you made reminded me of one that Utah Philips used to recite:

By Malcolm Ross & Ralph Albertson, 1920's
Adapted by Utah Philips © 1979
Tune: The Son of a Gambolier

The Rebel Against Morality

C                               G                C
Now I have led a good life, full of peace and quiet
                                 G
But I shall have an old age, steeped in rum and riot;
F                               C
Yes, I have been a good lad, gentile and artistic;
                         G                C
I shall be a grandad, coarse and anarchistic!


Once I paid me taxes and followed every rule,
Banker, boss, and bureaucrat found me a willing tool;
I voted Democratic and paid the church its due,
Now all them swine will have to find some other chump to screw!

Of interest, banks and credit, insurance, tax and rent,
Of doctors, lawyers, generals and clerics I repent;
With this* for corporations and scorn for those elected,
I shall be an old bum, loved but unrespected!


* With a finger gesture!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: Lyr Add: RETIREMENT (Jean Mackie)
From: katlaughing
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 06:07 PM

MtheGM, thank you for posting those. I especially like the last two verses of Sing A Song At Sixty. Both poems are quite beautifully written.

I've always loved this one which I learned from a Jean Redpath CD after I wrote to her and received a gracious reply which told me which one it was on; the "saga" is chronicled in THIS THREAD:

"Retirement"
by Jean Mackie from "A Little Piece of Earth"
copyright 1983
printed by Rainbow Enterprises

I sit in long contentment in his house
Wrapped in fire heat and sun heat
The trees break the sun into long lines
Which cross the floor
To meet the steady warmth of the coals
I lie on the old sofa
A rug tucked around me by his gentle hands
Was never lover's bed so surely warm
I see him pass the window --bowed, slow, sure
Carrying plants, seeds, weeds
All these he can still attend
But when he comes into the kitchen
He puts his hand on my head and says
"The beasts are looking fine"
"Tomorrow" I say "Tomorrow I'll come look"
Though I know he sold them all
A dozen years ago.

Subject: Lyr Add: WHEN YOU ARE OLD (W. B. Yeats)
From: Joe_F
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 05:55 PM

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.         -- Yeats

Subject: Lyr Add: WARNING (Jenny Joseph)
From: Leadfingers
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 05:31 PM

My Old Mum , 94 0n Christmas Eve , always like this Jenny Joseph poem !

Warning

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: AllisonA(Animaterra)
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 05:07 PM

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Subject: Lyr Add: GOLD LEAVES (G. K. Chesterton)
From: Micca
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 04:26 PM

Gold Leaves
a poem by G.K. Chesterton


Lo! I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold;
Grey hairs and golden leaves cry out
The year and I are old.

In youth I sought the prince of men,
Captain in cosmic wars,
Our Titan, even the weeds would show
Defiant, to the stars.

But now a great thing in the street
Seems any human nod,
Where shift in strange democracy
The million masks of God.

In youth I sought the golden flower
Hidden in wood or wold,
But I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold

Subject: Lyr Add: DO YOU REMEMBER? (Leon Rosselson)
From: GUEST,Paul Burke
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 04:21 PM

DO YOU REMEMBER?
As recorded by Leon Rosselson on "Songs for Sceptical Circles" (1966)

Do you remember when first I met you?
In the park on the corner, we sat the night through.
The wind blew the leaves through a curtain of mist
In the park on the corner when first we kissed,
In the park on the corner when first we kissed.

Do you remember the room where we stayed?
The bed creaked like crazy; the curtains were frayed;
But I kept you warm and you never complained,
Though the ceiling leaked water whenever it rained,
Though the ceiling leaked water whenever it rained.

When the candle's burnt out and we're no longer young,
We'll have chintzy lace curtains to keep out the sun.
To blot out the cold wind, we'll carpet the floors,
And to lock out the weather, we'll bolt all the doors;
And to lock out the weather, we'll bolt all the doors.

Rings on my fingers and chains in my bed,
And a coffin to keep me secure when I'm dead,
A cage for the children, a uniform too,
And a no-exit sign on the door we came through,
And a no-exit sign on the door we came through.

And what will be left from the kiss in the park?
The rose in the garden, the word in the dark.
When the wind blows the flame out, what will we have to show
From the park on the corner a long time ago.
From the park on the corner a long time ago?

*

But on a more positive note, anything from Christopher Matthews excellent "Now We Are Sixty."

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 03:28 PM

Thank you, Bill. That means a great deal to me.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Bill D
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 03:26 PM

wonderful, Michael... I would like to have known her.

Subject: Lyr Add: NOCTURNE
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 03:14 PM

NOCTURNE

A phalanx of old ladies
Each wheelchair like a throne
Sit doped and dozy in the Kozy
Kare Retirement home.
Our hair's time-bleached to monochrome,
Our teeth are not our own;

Since it's got so hard to chew,
We live on tablets, mince and stew.

Precarious, this refuge
(Eight hundred pounds a week)
Meant selling off the bungalow
In Frinton, not Mustique:
We're better placed than plenty,
But the present's pretty bleak.

We're stuck with nothing much to do;
Our visitors are none or few.

Time was we went to dances,
Our hair in lacquered curls;
In sugar-stiffened petticoats,
We executed twirls.
Oh, how we used to jitterbug,
When we were pretty girls!


        Valerie Grosvenor Myer
                  1935-2007

Subject: Lyr Add: SING A SONG AT SIXTY
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 03:08 PM

Winner of 2nd prize (£300) in competition

SING A SONG AT SIXTY

It is too late alas to learn a musical instrument,
To become a downhill racer on skis or compete at Wimbledon;
I shall never be able to read Dostoievsky in the original.
I have not won any cups for achievement,
And so many things I dreamed of will never happen:
I shall never achieve my own chat show on television,
Or dissolve gracefully into artful tears, clutching my Oscar.

I must reconcile myself to clothing which is
Comfortable rather than glamorous,
And acknowledge that hair-dye after sixty is usually a mistake.
I refuse to lament the loss of my beauty and my slender waist,
Instead I will be grateful that I retain my teeth,
More metal than ivory, it must be frankly admitted,
Propped, pinned, posted and padded with plastic,
But I can still eat with them.

I will be glad that I was not born in the Dark Ages
Before the invention of spectacles. I will not agonize
Over tests I have failed, but will concentrate on remembering
The ones I have passed, and the people who have loved me.

It is futile to lie awake brooding over old animosities.
It is time to forgive one's parents and to contemplate the young
Not with envy but with tender concern and generosity,
Betraying no awareness of how vulnerable they are.

Valerie Grosvenor Myer 1935-2007

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: stallion
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 02:16 PM

Charley she is a wonderful woman and I am really glad you took us to meet her

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: Bill D
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 01:46 PM

synopsis of actuality:

"You are old, Father William" his friends did remark,
"And doing quite well, in the main.
But we still remember when you stood on your head-
Why don't you do it again?"

"In my youth, it was easy", the old man replied,
"But my CAT scan was an interesting sight"
The doc said:," Your vertebrae's seen better days,
"And I recommend staying upright!"

(I used to celebrate birthdays by standing on my head...until 55 or so)

Subject: Lyr Add: WHITE HAIR SAFARI
From: VirginiaTam
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 01:45 PM

WHITE HAIR SAFARI
Written by me 2008 (I forget the actual date)

Women of a certain age
Will know whereof I speak
When our vision starts to dim
And our joints begin to creak

With arms not quite long enough
To see words upon a page
I still have the eyes and the reach
To strike down a wiry savage

Oh I do the white hair safari
I hunt both day and night
Armed only with the tweezers
With mirror and strong light

I put off the ordinary tasks
My fingers not so nimble
I claim I cannot see to sew
Or that I've lost my thimble

Those special meals I used to make
Take more strength than I've got
My poor family comes home again
Another takeaway and empty pot

But I do the white hair safari
I hunt both day and night
Armed only with the tweezers
With mirror and strong light

In the utility room is a basket
Near splitting at the sides
A month or more of ironing
Neglected, there resides

My arms hurt too much I say
I cannot stand the heat
But fry my brains 'neath hundred watt
Searching for the wiry beast

Yes I did the white hair safari
Hunted both day and night
Armed only with the tweezers
With mirror and strong light

Until finally all the maladies
That helped me put off work
Catch me out then catch me up
Make me look the jerk

Now I've reached another phase
And suddenly do not care
To comb and search and suffer
To find the rare white hair

Less uncommon are they now
And not so hard to find
I've learned to let the creatures be
It's those dark hairs now I mind

To go on the dark hair safari
Bothered, I just can't be
I've lost the tweezers, the mirror's cracked
Besides I cannot see

Oh never did the wild white hair
A woman's beauty mar
Her care for others and inner self
Is where they see a star

Subject: Lyr Add: JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO
From: Jim Carroll
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 01:26 PM

One to show that there's hope for us all Charlie,
Jim Carroll

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO

John Anderson, my jo, John,
I wonder what ye mean,
To lie sae lang i' the mornin',
And sit sae late at e'en?
Ye'll bleer a' your een, John,
And why do ye so?
Come sooner to your bed at een,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
When first that ye began,
Ye had as good a tail-tree,
As ony ither man;
But now its waxen wan, John,
And wrinkles to and fro,
I've twa gae-ups for ae gae-down,
John Anderson, my jo.

I'm backit like a salmon,
I'm breastit like a swan;
My wame it is a down-cod,
My middle ye may span:;
Frae my tap-knot to my tae, John,
I'm like the new-fa'n snow;
And it's a' for your convenience,
John Anderson, my jo.

O it is a fine thing
To keep out o'er the dyke,
But its a meikle finer thing,
To see your hurdies fyke;
To see your hurdies fyke, John,
And hit the rising blow;
It's then I like your chanter-pipe,
John Anderson, my jo.

When ye come on before, John,
See that ye do your best;
When ye begin to haud me,
See that ye grip me fast;
See that ye grip me fast, John,
Until that I cry "Oh!"
Your back shall crack or I do that,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
Ye're welcome when ye please;
It's either in the warm bed
Or else aboon the claes:
Or ye shall hae the horns, John,
Upon your head to grow;
An' that's the cuckold's mallison,
John Anderson, my jo.

Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old
From: autoharper
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 01:26 PM

Thanks for posting this lovely verse, Charley. It's just beautiful!

-Adam Miller

Subject: Poems about Growing Old
From: Charley Noble
Date: 02 Jan 10 - 01:15 PM

Toward the end of 2009 my mother found herself in a reflective mood one morning:

By Dahlov Ipcar, 12/31/2009

Morning - 2009

It is morning
And I'm in my ninety-third year;
The cat is waiting for her milk.

I put the kettle on to boil
And I feed the cat,
And I say to myself,
"How will I do all this when I get old?"

Other contributions welcome!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble in his 67th year