I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
Open the paper and read the obits.
If I'm not there I know I'm not dead,
So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed.
How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up-and-go just got up and went.
But in spite of it all, I'm able to grin
And think of the places my get-up has been.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007