Ode on a Man as Old as a Grecian Urn

By Amy Keats

Thou decrepit husband of an e’re patient wife,

Thou aged father of silent and sweet progeny,

Wise historian who canst explain a life

As well and quickly as this short ditty:

What number of chocolate chip cookies haunt thy shape?

And untold hamburgers and cheetos too,

And cutting back could not eliminate

Their cholesterol and fatty residue.

What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?

The battle of the bulge against your weight?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard

Are sweeter; therefore, keep ye hearing aid turned down,

And much like Grandpa Kay, and as endeared,

We will talk and joke as you observe and frown.

Fair youth, thou hast made haste to leave

The ravaged outer shell so stripped and bare

Of muscle tone and vigor long missed

At sixty though one should not grieve

Your loss of energy or shake your fist

At least you got to keep, though greyed, your hair.

Ah, happy, happy man! That cannot shed

Your wife, nor ever bid your kids adieu,

And happy father, unwearied,

You children’s boxes of junk will always be with you.

Their bills arrive in the mail each day,

Some even retain your Master and Visa cards,

Forever wanting, and forever needy

You should cut the cord and move away.

Alas construction has your house in shards,

Preventing your needed escape to Yosemite.

And now the time to count the Sacrifice

You have made for God and family

To think you would throw it out on dice

Texas Hold’em or the Poker World Series.

What glorious fortress of Gondor built by the Sea

Oh Mountainous house painted blue and gold

With a large backyard and well used ping pong set

To challenge your young to try and upset thee.

A place to chase grandchildren oh so bold,

And teach them that Joe Bruin will triumph yet.

Oh old man, how you age, how you decline,

But you have taught us well, and can depart

The gospel that you lived continues to shine

We have Christ’s love deep within our hearts.

Throughout eternity, men rise and fall

When old age shall this generation waste,

Thou shall be gone, in midst of all our woe,

But you shall celebrate, due to Christ’s amazing grace

“God is truth, and God is love”- that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Happy 60^th Dad, I love you!

For those of you who love Keats, my apologies for the above travesty. For those of you who love words, how often do you get to see the word travesty used correctly? For those of you who don't know my Dad, don't worry, he is very youthful and skinny and a practical joker known for bringing a walker as a gag gift to friend's 30^th and 40^th birthdays, who constantly discusses the old age and physical decline of his wife and children, and would not find any of the above ribbing anything but amusing.