by Jesse Coghill
Poet farmer from Jordan


It's birthday number seventy five,
And I thank God I'm still alive.
I can't complain, my hearing's okay,
Speak a little louder, what's that you say?

My memory's sharp and eyes are fair,
Got most of my teeth and all of my hair.
In fact I've more hair than in other years,
Growing out of my nose and in my ears.

I take a pill that's tiny and round
To help me keep my blood pressure down.
Now at pretty girls I only stare,
But at this point I don't really care.

One of these days if I'm left all alone,
I'll have to consider the nursing home
Where I'll spend each day with ache or pain
And watch my life going down the drain.

But until that time I'm still alive
And could even make a hundred and five.
As long as I'm happy and feeling well
I'm going out now to raise some hell.