I’d dump those individual gifts at your door, 
The gifts you have lost that you cherished of yore, 
I’d deliver to you all that maidenly vigor 
That goes along with a size 14 figger.  
Restore the old color that once graced your hair, 
Before rinses and bleaches took residence there, 
I’d bring back the contours with which youth is gifted, 
So that things now suspended need not be uplifted.
 I’d draw in your stomachs and smooth down your backs
Till you’d be a dream walking in close fitted slacks. 
I’d remove all the wrinkles and leave only one chin,
 So you wouldn’t spend days rubbing grease on your skin. 
You wouldn’t have flashes, or queer dizzy spells. 
You wouldn’t have noises of ringing of bells 
No searching the closets to find all your clothes 
No hunting for spectacles right on your nose.
No shots in the arm or the hip or the fanny 
By a doctor who thinks you’re a nervous old granny. 
Yes, if I were Santa these things I’d deliver 
The romance of Cupid with his little quiver. 
The lift of the heart when the wolves start to whistle 
The joys of the spirit as light as a thistle. 
But alas, I’m not Santa,
 I’m simply just me, 
The matroniest Matron you ever did see.
 I wish I could tell you the symptoms
 I’ve got 
But I’m due at the doctors’ right now for a shot.

Author Unknown

Yes, that Author Unknown has done it again...I am laughing and I hope you are too!

Have a wonderful Wednesday everyone!

'On Ya'-ma