The doctor says, I'm fine,
He likes my vital signs,
And though I feel no pain,
I feel I must complain:
I am listless, and I'm creaky.
My joints are somewhat sticky,
And I readily confess:
I require much more rest.
I move slowly down the lane,
Assisted by my cane,
And when the skies are grey,
At home I like to stay.
As I heard from a sage:
“There's no pill for old age...”