Doggerel

Some words assembled on the occasion of my wife's 70th birthday

              Come Grow Old With Me

One time I chanced to see, on a bench beneath a tree
Some words carved with a knife, about the course of life.

Though tender was the verse, the truth it did reverse.
It said,” Grow old with me. The best is yet to be.”

The best is yet to be? This I’d like to see.

I stared at it bemused, my senses all abused
To say the last is best, just does not pass the test.

Our best I fear my dear, lies in the rear view mirror.
The future holds scant bliss. Reality is this.

Eyes grow dim and hair gets thin
Knees creak and bowels leak
Necks get crepey and tricepts drapey
As jowels sag and back is bent, the skin resembles old parch-ment.
As memory fades and wit expires, we find we’re running on old tires.
With withered grip and pruney lip, I fret about a rigid hip.

The future I must tell, just doesn’t seem that swell.
But come grow old with me.
When I meet eternity
It’s with you I want to be.