Now He’s 64

If I’ve been out
till quarter to three,
would you lock the door?
Will you still need me,
will you still feed me,
when I’m sixty-four?

You’ll be older too
And if you say the word
I could stay with you

I could be handy, mending a fuse,
when your lights are gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside.
Sunday morning go for a ride.

Doing the garden,
digging the weeds,
who could ask for more?
Will you still need me,
will you still feed me,
when I’m sixty-four?

Every summer we can rent a cottage in the isle of Wight
if it’s not too dear.
Grandchildren on our knees
Vera, Chuck and Dave.

Send me a postcard,
drop me a line,
stating point of view.
Indicate precisely what you mean to say.
Yours sincerely wasting away.