Poem

I'm very well, thank you.

There is nothing the matter with me
I’m as healthy as can be.
I have arthritis in both my knees
And when I talk - I talk with a wheeze.
My pulse is weak and my blood is thin,
But, I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.
And supports I have for my feet
Or I wouldn’t be able to be out on the street.
Sleep is denied me night after night
But every morning I find I’m alright.
My memory is failing, my head’s in a spin,
But, I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

My moral is this - as my tale I unfold
That for you and me who are getting old
It’s better to say “I’m fine” with a grin
Than to let folks know the shape we’re in.
How do I know that my youth is all spent?
Well, my ‘get and go’ and ‘got up and went’.
But I really don’t mind when I think with a grin
Of all the grand places my ‘got up’ has been.
Old age is golden, I’ve heard it said
But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed
With my ears in a draw, my teeth in a cup
My specs on the table until I get up,
‘Ere sleep overtakes me I say to myself
Is there anything else I could lay on the shelf?
When I was young my slippers were red
I could kick my heels right over my head.
When I was older my slippers were blue
But I could still dance the whole night through.
Now I am older my slippers are black
I walk to the shop and puff my way back.
I get up each morning and dust off my wits
And pick up the paper to read the obits.
My name is still missing so I know I’m not dead
And so I have breakfast and go back to bed.

By Beatrice Wigg, courtesy of Derek Buttle

(Beatrice Wigg taught many past residents of Needham.  Does anyone have any recollections of her?)