I'm old

I’m old
At least so I’ve been told
But I won’t see 80 any more.
So I no longer crawl upon the floor
Playing with toy soldiers

But nor do I have to drive to work
Amongst the rush hour traffic
So every morning at seven fifteen
I thank God that I’m not
To be seen on Walton Bridge
With every body else

But wait a bit
My mum reached 96
And dad was 97
Before they both
Were taken back to heaven

So perhaps I’m still young
And though my knees are getting wonky
I can still talk the hind legs
Off a donkey
And write

Even though it’s in blank verse
And doesn’t rhyme
There’s not even any meter
Most of the time

My English teacher always said
I couldn’t write and
Would come to a bad end
So perhaps this is it
But I think I’ll keep on writing
Just for a little bit.