Growing older has its hitches
As the body suffers glitches
Til you think that every itch is
Proof you harbour inner snitches
Who’ll grass you up to Death, whose stitches
Will bind your shroud before she ditches
You in the grave as black as pitch is,
And deadly duller than Ipswich is.
And so we all ape dumb ostriches;
Try to ignore all random twitches;
Say Life’s so easy – like Quidditch is -
But all the while we hear the scritches
Of Death’s nib... So embrace Life’s riches
While you can! And yet, the bitch is
Growing older has its hitches
As the body suffers glitches...
But now my turds all float! Like witches!!