Growing Old With Grace

My goal is to grow old gracefully

Stylish, gently, and graciously.

But when I try, I have no gracefulness within me.

My bones announce their presence by creaking, snapping and cracking

With every movement, sitting, stooping or backing

Away from the paper six more inches so I can see

The print that has been shrunk to the size of a bumblebee's eyes.

My stomach has a mind of it's own

And gurgles, twists, and churns…

And gasses bubble inside my bowel

And escapes at awkward moments causing people to cringe and scowl

As I try to beat the odor around the corner even though, at times it burns.

My legs get weak at oddest times

My knees go through a pantomime

Of trying to bend in time with my desire to sit,

But there are those times I end up on the floor

Looking like some puppet half wit

With twisted broken strings and getting up again it seems

Is an eternity of endless chores.

I guess my need for gracefulness is pretty much a senior dream

We all would like to go silently and pretty much with demeanor

Befitting to a gliding soul and arrive "Up There" with no fuss, no real fanfare.

But they way I creak and gurgle

And snap and crackle constantly

Sneaking up to the Pearly gates is just about impossible for me…

Unless St. Peter's hearing aid is low on batteries