Here's another little ditty for all those "older" guys out there. Ladies, if you can't identify, don't read it!!!
The Man Poem
When a man turns fifty he sees his youth
Vanish in a cloud of gray,
His wife regards him as uncouth
And rarely do they roll the hay.
He stands on soft knees made of sand
And weaker still his back and mind,
He tries to stay in shape, and tanned.
But all his friends are old in kind.
His children want to leave the house,
His house has slipped in disrepair,
And on the days he woos his spouse
He can't remember what goes where.
And so he leans on wisdom's frame
Believing that he's better than
The huddled masses ,young and lame,
Although he doubts he's still a man.
He often sits himself to pee
Because in ease his prostate bends
And with each colonoscopy
The tools grow larger than his ends.
His only comforts are in sweets:
The donut, cake, and licorice,
That train him as a dog likes treats,
And when he walks his arches squish.
But in his few days after fifty,
He settles in and finds his pace,
And thinks it rather neat and nifty
That he is halfway through his race.
Things could be worse: he could be dead.
He could be helpless as a pup.
And so the ego in his head
Resolves to pee while standing up.