Soixante Dick

[tectak]

The year of soixante-neuf is done, I’m three score years and ten.
Friends used to give me whisky… but now?.....Sanatogen.
I  can’t complain, well, yes, I could…but no hears me whine…
It seems that I must just expect a terminal decline.
And yet some sympathetic friends
have sent me woolly socks, a pen,
a book on how to sleep at night,
 a cardigan (alas, too tight),
 a knitted mushroom on a string,
a spatula ( a lovely thing)
plus some pricey wine….
 
So seventy is starting well, my gout went overnight,
The back-ache isn’t really bad…Naproxen puts it  right.
I’ve found some glasses that I’d lost, whilst looking for the pen..
The woolly socks have disappeared, I don’t know where or when;
I  sleep much better… how I tried to read the book I got
( I haven’t got to page two yet…I fall asleep a lot).
My mushroom, knitted, white and red,
Is lurking somewhere  in my bed,
The spatula, of fine carved wood,
Is on the wall and looking good,
For cooking it is not…
 
Overall,  I’m  happy with the way things have progressed.
My mantra is a simple one…never get depressed.
It won’t be easy, things do change, and what we take for granted
can vanish in a skipped heart beat whilst  things we thought we wanted
no longer seem to matter much…but on these, I depend..
my woolly socks and cardigan,
my fountain pen,
my spatula,
my night-time read,
my gifted wine…
and  friends.

[Tiger the Lion]

The year of soixante-neuf is done, I’m three score years and ten.
Friends used to give me whisky… but now?.....Sanatogen.
I  can’t complain, well, yes, I could…but no hears me whine…
It seems that I must just expect a terminal decline.
And yet some sympathetic friends
have sent me woolly socks, a pen,
a book on how to sleep at night,
 a cardigan (alas, too tight),
 a knitted mushroom on a string,
a spatula ( a lovely thing)
plus some pricey wine….
 
So seventy is starting well, my gout went overnight,
The back-ache isn’t really bad…Naproxen puts it  right.
I’ve found some glasses that I’d lost, whilst looking for the pen..
The woolly socks have disappeared, I don’t know where or when;
I  sleep much better… how I tried to read the book I got
( I haven’t got to page two yet…I fall asleep a lot).
My mushroom, knitted, white and red,
Is lurking somewhere  in my bed,
The spatula, of fine carved wood,
Is on the wall and looking good,
For cooking it is not…
 
Overall,  I’m  happy with the way things have progressed.
My mantra is a simple one…never get depressed.
It won’t be easy, things do change, and what we take for granted
can vanish in a skipped heart beat whilst  things we thought we wanted
no longer seem to matter much…but on these, I depend..
my woolly socks and cardigan,
my fountain pen,
my spatula,
my night-time read,
my gifted wine…
and  friends.

Enjoyable read. 

[dukealien]

O, how I can sympathize!  No use holding out for a quilted comforter:  if friends were that attentive they'd want wages.

[Keith]

I have boxes full of stuff I need, and more of books I'd like to read
must then I wait for fifteen years, and stay this wet behind the ears?
before reality lifts its head and tells me to empty the shed
When all I'll say is thanks a lot and all my crap don't mean a jot.

Thanks for he giggle tectak very relatable for me, no wander there are so many charity shops.

[billy]

it got a smile from me tom,

[Erthona]

No "one" hears me whine.

I can relate even though I am not yet 70. I sure my body is at least that considering how I abused it. Well one gets their just desserts and I'm afraid mine is not chocolate

dale