To muck out cupboards, chests of drawers,
And chuck away the flotsam.
Prune excess books and ancient clothes
And take them all to Oxfam.
Ration time on the Internet,
Write something every day.
Make blog posts few and far between,
And not be led astray
By crosswords, and by su dokus,
Or phone calls to my daughter*.
Make better use of time, because
At my age, well, I ought to.
To live each day as though I'm doomed
To meet my end tomorrow.
To keep a note of every book
I read, or lend, or borrow.
And if I manage just one of these
(I promise, I'll be trying),
You'll find the moon is made of cheese,
And pigs? Well, they'll be flying...
*Sons are nice to talk to, too, but they're not so good at gossip.