Funny Light Hearted Comic for the Elderly

No matter how erstwhile you are getting always stay young at middle. Strictland Gillilan has a way with words that he uses in this verse form that volition brand you smiling!
  • Go along Young At Center
    Poet: Strickland Gillilan

    But immature at centre - God keep us that! Allow care be laughed to scorn.
    Let's keep our backs to eventide and ever face the morn.
    Let's keep the ripeness of our noon to guide the girls and boys
    Whose youth is callower than ours and lacking deeper joys.

    The snow of age may dust our hair, it cannot accomplish inside.
    Nosotros'll teach those careworn youths of ours to bear their griefs and smiling -
    Become to the ane whose empty life has palled on him and say:
    "A wiser youth has come to me while you were turning gray."

    This poem makes fun of growing erstwhile, it points out things that happen to everyone, just in the end the bulletin is enjoy and but alive life!

  • Aging is Fun
    Poet: Julie Hebert, © 2012

    Crumbling fun
    Growing old is,
    Lots of fun,
    Permit me to share,
    The obvious pun.

    Of course this fun,
    Is not the truth,
    Is crumbling all that,
    Fun to you?

    Baldness, greying,
    Wrinkles, and more.
    Is not my idea of
    Aging galore.

    But maybe things will be different for you.
    Do not let the stress of age
    Brand yous blue
    Alive life, be engaged!

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    Years practice go by quickly! The verses in this poetry emphasize this.

  • Quondam
    By Catherine Pulsifer, © 2011

    I'm as well young to be this erstwhile
    It is similar communicable a cold
    It happens before you know
    The years fly by and and then yous're old.

    But life is to be live each 24-hour interval
    Never cease learning
    Keep decorated
    Detect a express mirth
    And life will exist the best.

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    A short just to the point poem near getting older!

  • Older We Get
    By: Catherine Pulsifer, © 2011

    The older we become
    The more than we forget
    But who cares
    Just those who dare
    To accept that facelift
    And and then exist miffed!

    A cute poem that uses wheels to draw how the years go by.

  • Seven Ages Of Wheels
    Poet Unknown

    A wicker carriage we provide
    In which the baby first may ride.

    With kilts, a yellowish cart arrives,
    A doubtful baton-caprine animal he drives.

    In knickerbockers, down the pike,
    He circuses upon his cycle.

    The age of love and gasoline
    Demands a lx-horse machine.

    The years advance; he rides afar
    In his palatial private car.

    Old, feeble, if the day be fair,
    His valet wheels him in the chair.

    Then 1 concluding trip he takes on wheels
    His caput no higher than his heels.

  • Not My Age
    Poet Unknown

    That's not my age; it's just not truthful.
    My centre is young; the fourth dimension just flew.
    I'm staring at this foreign old face,
    And someone else is in my place!

  • Looking Dorsum
    Past Deacon Green

    If I were a boy again, — ah, me! —
    How very, very good I'd be!
    I would not sulk, I would not cry,
    I'd scorn to coax for cake or pie.
    I would not crusade Mamma distress,
    I'd never hate to wash and dress.
    I'd rather learn a task than play,
    And ne'er from school I'd run away.
    I'd any time my jack-knife lend,
    And share my toys with every friend.
    I'd gladly go to bed at half-dozen,
    And never be "as cantankerous as sticks."
    I'd run with joy to take a pill,
    And mustard wear whenever sick.
    I'd never wish to skate or swim,
    But wisely think of dangers grim.
    And, oh, I'd never, just for fun,
    Beg to become hunting with a gun!
    At every naughty matter I did —
    For mischief might be somewhere hid —
    I'd drop at once upon my knees,
    And say, "Dear Teacher, flog me, delight."

    Information technology'southward like shooting fish in a barrel to be good, you come across,
    When looking back from threescore-three.

  • Snap, Crepitation, Pop
    Poet: Catherine Pulsifer

    I feel like snap, crackle, pop
    I wish my age would just finish

    I bend down and my knees practice snap
    Makes me feel like my legs will flap
    So my arthritis makes me crepitation
    I wonder what next I can tackle
    And if I turn too fast I hear "popular"
    My neck makes this noise similar an quondam mop.

    But permit me tell you it's okay
    A snap, a crackle, a pop, lets me know I am not decay
    There is yet some life in these old bones
    I won't waste it with complaints and groans
    And I am not going to shrivel upward and die
    If someone asks my age I volition just lie!

  • I Did Dread
    Poet: Catherine Pulsifer

    You lot are now a senior they said
    Oh great, that I did dread!
    What is good virtually aging I ask
    Everything seems like such a task.

    A senior that means I will have gray hair
    Maybe I'll dye it majestic for some flare.
    And wrinkles that appear out of the blue
    Where they came from I haven't a inkling.

    It seems I walk a little slower
    And things seem more hard to jump over
    And never before did I demand spectacles to see
    And my float keeps wanting me to pee.

    I sit dorsum and wonder virtually the years
    That take flown by and merely disappeared
    Then I realized no sense in beingness downwardly
    I might as well be the senior clown.

    I may not exist able to do everything
    Just to others a smile I can bring
    And then a senior I may exist
    My goal is to make others happy!

  • Golden Years
    Poet: Catherine Pulsifer

    They phone call them the golden years
    Well if that is the case why don't more than cheer?
    Age is the one thing people fret about
    Some even sit down and pout!

    There are many things we can control
    Simply tell me who sets a goal
    To see time passing and get old?
    It seems to all start at the fifty threshold.

    They say your memory starts to go
    You forget things you use to know
    You see a person, but forget their name
    On your age, you do blame!

    You talk nearly the skillful old days
    Whenever someone visits and stays.
    And when the Boob tube is on
    You close your eyes and yawn.

    Golden years expect forward they volition come
    You think never, I am young.
    Only before y'all know it you will find
    Your younger years will be left behind.

  • The Age
    Poet: Catherine Pulsifer

    30 is the historic period that they say you're old
    but you are still young and pretty assuming.

    And so comes 40 and you may experience
    You've been given a rotten deal.

    But wait, 50 appears out of the blue
    And that age may exist a bit of an issue

    And earlier y'all know it 60 arrives
    And you're thankful you have survived

    And some of us meet 70 years
    People finish and call us love.

    The big 80 surprises you lot
    You tin't do what you use to.

    And if 90 you exercise come across
    To stay awake beverage more than coffee

    100 is the historic period that is amazing even so
    To become around takes some skill.

    Forget about the age you are
    Set your goals and you'll get far.

    Yes with historic period you may have to arrange a bit
    Merely it doesn't mean you have to sit and knit!!

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