TO TOM (For his 40th birthday party.) Wally Rose - 1986 You’re forty today, and well on your way, To being over the hill. Your get up and go, becomes slow down and ‘whoa’, And just getting up gives you a thrill. You blow-dry your hair, and look with despair, As some of it just blows away, And then with chagrin, you look closely again, And start pulling out those that are gray. You’ll jog for a bit, to try and stay fit, You give up the jams and the jelly, But soon you will find, it takes too much time, And your chest drops down to your belly. Playing soccer at 40 won’t prove you’re a kid, It just shows you’re losing your mind, Less strenuous games like checkers and chess, Are really more in your line. Big doctor bills and allergy pills, Are signs that you’re falling apart, And soon it’s your fate to procrastinate, It’s just not as easy to start. When the spring in your step turns to fall in your arches, And Ben Gay is your very best friend, It’s time to retire to the old rocking chair, And let rigor mortis set in.