No 122  July 17


              Iím sitting here at midnight,

              And cannot go to sleep,

              I wish a poem would come to me,

              Then the benefits you would reap.


              Please donít tell me to count some sheep,

              It doesnít work for me,

              When I get as far as 83,

              I think Oh God thatís me.


              I know Iím really ancient,

              But my mind just doesnít know,

              Itís always working overtime,

              But my bodyís gone quite slow.


              It really does annoy me,

              My body wonít do what itís told,

              I want to do so many things,

              Why had I to get old.


              Thatís such a silly statement,

              The alternativeís so clear,

              I couldnít send this poem to you,

              Ďcause I would not be here,


              A womanís work is never done,

              And if Iíd to come again,

              I think Iíd try the other side,

              And come back as a man.


              God thinks the populations far too high,

              Heís cutting it down real quick,

              Just let the men have the babies,

              That would do the trick.


              So as not to upset my male friends,

              Itís just the way I feel,

              But we still love you dearly,

              You just got the better deal.