I don't know the author of this poem, but I thought I'd share it with
y'all anyway. Thanks to cousin David for calling it to my attention.
There is nothing whatever the matter with me:
I'm just as healthy as I can be.
I have arthritis in both of my knees
And when I talk, I speak with a wheeze.
My pulse is weak, and my blood is thin,
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
My teeth eventually have to come out,
And my diet is something to think about.
I'm overweight, and I can't get thin,
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
I think my liver is out of whack,
And I have a terrible pain in my back.
My hearing is poor, and my sight is dim,
And everything seems to be out of trim,
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
I have arch supports for both of my feet,
Or I wouldn't be able to cross the street.
Sleeplessness each night after night,
My memory's failing; my head's in a spin.
I'm practically living on aspirin.
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
The moral is, as this tale we unfold,
That for you and me, who are growing old,
It's better to say, "I'm fine," with a grin
Than to let them know the shape we are in.
Art
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Arthur Hirsch {} [log in to unmask] {} Lewisville, TX {} 972-434-2377
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Always Remember This: Happiness Is Right, So Choose Happiness
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