Something to Do

When you get old and lonesome,
What is there yet to do?
You cannot say...I'm finished,
That life and me...are through.

You cannot always ponder your fate,
And say...You've had enough.
You cannot stand like a wilted flower,
Just because your days are rough.

You cannot say, ..."I'm all but blind",
And I cannot hear...a thing.
And that the bird...sits on the window sill,
So still...but he doesn't sing.

You cannot sit with your aching bones,
Just reading from off the shelf.
And thinking of what you once could do,
Without feeling sorry for yourself.

There's one thing for sure...that you must do,
Is your fragile self...to mend.
And go on and on...and ever on,
And endure right to the end.

E.P. 1908 - 1989