Monday, January 3, 2011


Every day that I have trouble

Getting out of my bed,

The bones start to creak

And the circus starts

Playing in the back of my head.

Is this what it’s like getting old

And all gray, my skin starting

To wrinkle with seventy degrees

Much too cold for the day?

I lay there wondering

Which day will be my last,

Then I crowd out those

Thoughts with memories

Of days long past.

Playing ball in the park

And riding on my bike,

Swimming at the beach,

What’s not to like?

There were party’s and

Girls and dances galore

The music was terrific

And I always wanted “more.”

I wish I could forget the

Mad behavior and drinking,

The damage I wrought,

What was I thinking? But

I have to concentrate

Just on today, leave yesterday

For the biographers and

Hope for another good day

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