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‘Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I’d nibbled, the eggnog I’d taste At the holiday parties had gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).
I’d remember the marvellous meals I’d prepared; The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,
The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese And the way I’d never said, ‘No thank you, please.’
As I dressed myself in my husband’s old shirt And prepared once again to do battle with dirt – I said to myself, as I only can ‘You can’t spend a winter disguised as a man!’
So – away with the last of the sour cream dip, Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished ‘Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won’t have a cookie – not even a lick.
I’ll want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won’t have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie, I’ll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I’m hungry, I’m lonesome, and life is a bore But isn’t that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!
Pondering old age
How do I know that my youth is all spent?
Well, my get up and go has got up and went.
But in spite of it all I am able to grin
when I recall where my get up has been.
Old age is golden-so I’ve heard it said-
but sometimes I wonder when I get into bed,
with my ears in a drawer and my teeth in a cup,
my eyes on the table until I wake up.
Ere sleep dims my eyes I say to myself,
“Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?”
And I’m happy to say as I close my door,
my friends are the same, perhaps even more.
When I was young, my slippers were red,
I could pick up my heels right over my head.
When I grew older, my slippers were blue,
but still I could dance the whole night through.
But now I am old, my slippers are black,
I walk to the store and puff my way back.
The reason I know my youth is all spent,
my get up and go has got up and went.
But I really don’t mind when I think, with a grin,
of all the grand places my get up has been.
Since I have retired from life’s competition,
I accommodate myself with complete repetition.
I get up each morning, and dust off my wits,
pick up my paper and read the “obits”.
If my name is missing, I know I’m not dead,
so I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed
WINTER Poem
It’s winter in Canada
And the gentle breezes blow
Seventy miles an hour
At thirty-five below.
Oh, how I love Canada
When the snow’s up to your butt
You take a breath of winter
And your nose gets frozen shut.
Yes, the weather here is wonderful
So I guess I’ll hang around
I could never leave Canada
Cuz I’m frozen to the ground!
Have a great day…
