Waiting for God…. until they are dead,
surprised every morning they rise from their bed.
Surely all pensioner knows it is time
to leave it to others, for their past their prime.
They’re up with the sun when there’s work to be done
delighted to see a new dawn.
While us youngsters instead all stay snug in bed
and never would welcome the morn’.
The oldies have fun in all that is done
and die laughing with everything said.
You would think that their kind had all lost their mind
for not staying all day in their bed.
With aches and with pains, and forgetting all names
and with bodies now falling apart,
it would be far more wise to accept their demise
and just rest till it’s time to depart.
But no it’s not so, they’re so full of go
they put all us youngsters to shame.
If I had my way, I’d hide them away
and let them reflect on their pain.
I may sound quite hard, but when given a yard
a pensioner soon takes a mile,
and given an inch they forget their limbs pinch
and oft steal a yard with smile.
There’s no chance for us, for they ride on the bus
with a pass, and they don’t have to pay.
While for money us young will always get stung,
which soon takes our pleasure away.
With my love of rest I find it a pest
that though old they act youthful and sprite,
getting all the work done while still having fun
and still cheerful from morning to night.
I must show my respect for the way they accept
that he pain of old age must be borne,
but as they never shirk, from doing the work
I will let them…. and stifle a yawn!
Ivor G Davies