Shall I compare you to a piece of meat

That's lain too long on supermarket slab?

Your belly, once so muscular and neat

Now covers trouser belts with pallid flab.

Your hair, of old a bush of brown and gold

Has dwindled to a single strand of grey

And left a space where skaters might be bold.

But worst you idle through the dreary day

Collapsed in chairs, remote control in hand

Proclaiming all the channels just as bad

Or claiming politicians should be banned.

Sometimes your rants and ravings make me mad.

    I'm growing old and crotchety with you

    The days to kiss and argue may be few.