THE END

I’m far too old for more adventure.
My youth is gone. My knees are sprung.
My mouth could use an upper denture.
But still I struggle rung by rung
To get myself up off and running
To reignite my native cunning
When all I want to do is rest.
I’ve tried. I’ve done my level best.
My intellect is slowly fading-
I haven’t read a book in weeks;
Can barely write my rhymes’ critiques.
I’m thinking about emigrating
But have to earn my daily bread
Because I’m deeply in the red.