When you're young and drop something
You find it right away.
But when you're old and drop something,
It likes to have a play.
It doesn't land where you'd expect
But chooses carefully.
To roll or bounce or scuttle,
To a place were you can't see.
With joints a creaking and cracking,
You get down on your knees.
Expecting that you'll find it
With a certain amount of ease.
But you see no sign of it,
Your hand sweeps all around.
You come to the conclusion,
That it never will be found.
Now every joint is hurting,
You're getting short of breath.
Adding to frustration,
You're feeling close to death.
You climb into your armchair,
Kicking off a shoe.
And there it is, the blasted thing.
Sitting mocking you!