Poem on growing older
Graham Poynter, 79, drove semi-trailers interstate and locally for the final 30 years of his working life. This verse was written when he was 65 just after returning from a long truck trip. He’s now retired and travels with his wife in a car and caravan to various parts of Australia. It’s just that he likes driving.
How am I? Let me tell you.
My joints all ache.
My muscles hurt.
Don’t think I’ll see out another shirt.
I’ve put on weight.
Can’t touch my toes.
Just a couple of things amid other woes.
I’m always tired.
Can’t sleep at night.
Each morning I feel I’ve been in a losing fight.
When I try to think my mind goes numb.
I never used to be this dumb.
My body hurts.
I cannot run.
For me life seems to have lost it’s fun.
My sight is fair.
My hearing too.
There are so many things I can no longer do.
I do my best.
It’s not enough.
Living now has become so tough.
So now I must believe what I’m told.
They tell me it’s that I’ve become too old.
The time has come and I must agree
There can be no big future plans for me.
We are getting old when life has gone so fast
That there is not much ahead and so much in the past.
No longer the thought of setting the world on fire.
My thoughts now are that I should retire.
So now I think it’s time to take a rest.
It’s the one thing left that I can do best.
PS. I guess I was just having a whinge because I did continue for a further seven years…
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