There is nothing the matter with me.
I’m as healthy as can be.
I have arthritis in both my knees
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.
My pulse is weak and my blood is thin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.
Arch supports I have for my feet,
Or I wouldn’t be able to be on the street.
Sleep is denied me night after night.
My memory’s failing, my head’s in a spin
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.
The moral is this, as my tale I unfold,
That for you and me who are growing old.
It’s better to say, “I’m fine!” with a grin,
Than to let folks know the shape we are in.
(Anon)
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