Poor old Sod
Friends are now few and far between,
most of them gone now, not many seen.
Old age creeping up, my brain is numb,
go on have a laugh it's alright for some.

I force myself but my legs won't comply,
I scratch my bald head wondering why.
I wish I could go back the way I came,
instead I've purchased a zimmer frame.

I'm ashamed to go for a game of bowls,
much of my clothing is full of holes.
Sewing and patching is not really me,
even with glasses I can't hardly see.

Another day passes I get much sadder,
it's taking me ages to empty my bladder.
At this stage of life there's nothing to hide,
except when I'm scratching my backside.

I rise every morning, usually feel rotten,
don't know where I am, again I've forgotten.
I reach under the bed for the pot beneath,
it takes me an hour to find my false teeth.

I just cant understand why I feel like this,
when I visit the toilet it's all hit and miss.
There are bits sagging all over the place,
long gone are the days of style and grace.
Sorry Freddie I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Great stuff.

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