Lanky,cranky,old and stiff and full of modern aches and pains which always seem to rain on me,
I wake to face a Wednesday which some would say's a bonus play for one armed bandits,I would say,
'Life wasn't meant to be like this,how I miss the salad days, when tossed in oil and mayonnaise,my joints were free,my bones were lean and green.

I have seen graffiti,written on the wall which mocks me,locks me,spray can flaying,prayers slashed across the stones
and my bones creak,wreak havoc with my stature.
It's natural,
or so I'm told
to ache somewhat when one gets old
I hold on to the thought that I still might
once more trip lightly, be more sprightly
instead of being so tightly wound
with legs bound up,
they're so unsightly,unseemly or so it seems to me
I do hope that it's salad for tea.