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Poem	Because my teeth are feebly few I cannot bolt my grub like you, But have to chew and chew and chew As you can see; Yet every mouthful seems so good I would not haste it if I could, And so I salivate my food With ecstasy. Because my purse is poor in pence I spend my dough with common-sense, And live without the least pretence In simple state; The things I can't afford to buy Might speed the day I have to die, So pleased with poverty am I And bless my fate. Because my heart is growing tired, No more by foolish passion fired, Nor by ambitious hope inspired, As in my youth, I am content to sit and rest, And prove the last of life's the best, And ponder with a cheerful zest Some saintly truth. Because I cannot do the things I used to, comfort round me clings, And from the moil of market brings Me rich release; So welcome age with tranquil mind; Even infirmities are kind, And in our frailing we may find Life's crown of peace.
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