Old age is golden, or so I've heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder, as I crawl into bed.
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
My glasses on the table until I get up.
As sleep dims my vision, I say to myself:
Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?
The reason I know my youth is all spent,
Is my get-up-and-go has got up and went!
But, in spite of it all, I'm able to grin,
And think of the places my get-up has been!
