OLD AGE

I'll tell you a bit of my grandpa.

I think he's a thousand years old.

His hands colder than ice,

I've never felt ice cubes that cold.

The hair growing off of his earlobes

Is more than the hair on his head.

His eyes are all baggy,

And his nose is the same shade of red.

His voice is like a squeaking door.

It crackles and groans when he speaks.

Whenever he bends down to hug me

It sounds like his skeleton creaks.

He says that his memory is failing.

He thinks that he's losing his mind.

He always misplaces his glasses

Without them he's legally blind.

My mom says his hearing is normal.

I believe her, but then

Whenever I tell him "I love you,"

                 He asks me to say it again.