It is quite conventional
And not at all contentional
To rage against the age when we decay.
For the progress of the regress
Generates the anger to express
Our grief and our powerful dismay.
One by one all the incisors
Succumb to the advisors
That excision is the desired way.
Then the molars follow suit
For a lot of dental loot
To finish us as toothless as a jay.
We are soon bereft of hair,
Fallen out, I can’t say where
To give our tops the surface of a ball.
We retain our brows and lashes
While our shaving still leaves gashes
So our hairlessness is not complete at all.
Our muscles get much weaker
And our macho very meeker
While our memories are never very sound.
We totter and we twitter
‘Til we need a senior sitter
And finally we tumble to the ground.
Let us hope the end is calm
Not a quirk, not a qualm
When we slip into our final dreamless sleep.
Let’s be blessed with no recall,
No memory at all
And no problems with counting endless sheep.