Three units
Three places
Three empty spaces.
Me,myself and the other one who likes to carry on
But he's getting old and will have to be told
To cease these shenanigans.

So I speak to the other one when the other two
have got up and gone
And he agrees
Seemed quite pleased
Said,'the cold made his bones ache and the old
shouldn't really take
Such liberties
Make people feel ill at ease
and that his knees were going
So it was time to be slowing
down'

I told the other two,
his brothers in arms who'd decided to
leave me to explain.
Sometimes it's a pain having a brain like mine
Sorting out problems and sometimes three at a time
but it's cool.

They too were pleased
and peace came to reign.
It's not the same though
Not sure if I know
just how things became different but now
we watch daffodils grow
watch the river and its flow
count raindrops.

when life stops this is what remains.
Chilblains and gout,medicines and milk stout
And it's all inside out.

There is no Peter Pan
To transform this elderly man and turn him into a boy
That is the realism
That is the joy
Of getting old.