( archives )
Volume 20, Number 115, June/July 2017
Itís Fun To Be Old
by Bob Patmore
We’re old - and we’re sitting,
Wishing springtime would come,
But we can’t plant a garden,
‘Cause my back’s on the bum.
And I can’t push my walker,
In all that soft soil,
And the bills that keep coming!
They must think we’ve struck oil!
But each day we enjoy that bright shining sun,
We go shopping on Thursday, and get “Two for One”!
Then when we get home, our neighbour is there,
He carries our groceries, up all those steep stairs.
Sometimes we play Bingo, not much else to do,
A few friends are left - (we’ve lost quite a few).
We still go for coffee, and tell the old tales,
Of farming and ranching, and putting up rails.
You tell all your friends the tales of the day,
Doesn’t really matter, they forget anyway.
And we’re all still here, (we have lots of fun),
And then when its lunchtime, it’s soup and a bun!