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Robert W Service - The Centenarian
Work rating: Medium

Great Grandfather was ninety-nine
     And so it was our one dread,
That though his health was superfine
     He`d fail to make the hundred.
Though he was not a rolling stone
     No moss he seemed to gather:
A patriarch of brawn and bone
               Was Great Grandfather.

He should have been senile and frail
     Instead of hale and hearty;
But no, he loved a mug of ale,
     A boisterous old party.
`As frisky as a cold,` said he,
     `A man`s allotted span
I`ve lived but now I plan to be
               A Centenarian.`

Then one night when I called on him
     Oh what a change I saw!
His head was bowed, his eye was dim,
     Down-fallen was his jaw.
Said he: `Leave me to die, I pray;
     I`m no more bloody use . . .
For in my mouth I found today—
               A tooth that`s loose.`
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