I'm issuing an ultimatum,
To all my aging, senior friends,
Your activities of late
Have simply got to end.
Feeling weak and getting sick,
I demand, at once, be ceased,
If you continue such behavior,
You could end up deceased.
You trip, you fall, you break some bones,
Your heart palpitrates and flutters,
Your bones won't heal, and you'll feel ill,
And your legs may turn to butter.
If you keel over at the mall,
Nine-One-One, I'm sure, will come,
They'll pound your chest their very best,
To keep you from turning numb.
Then they'll rush you to Emergency,
Where they'll pound on you some more,
If you don't respond, I'm telling you
They'll take you to the morgue.
It's not a joke to have a stroke,
So that, too, has got to stop,
Though you don't feel ill, please take those pills,
That will make your BP drop.
Enough, my friends, I say enough,
And I implore you to agree,
For if you go before I do,
Who will be left to grieve for me?
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright April 2006 ~ February 2009

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