God Bless You, Dear Auntie

If you're nearing the big Nine-Oh and you've got nothing major to show, but the dentures of old and two fillings of gold and a bladder's cantankerous flow, if your skin looks like freshly plowed earth, and the shysters consider your worth, you can sit in your chair in the afternoon air and be drifting right back to your birth. Not a soul seems to pay too much mind of the elderly, cranky or kind. If it's hundred you reach they will want you to teach if it's not, they will leave you behind. So dear Auntie, you've made the big splash, thanks a million for sending me cash, back when Kennedy died and my scooter got fried when my future looked not very flash. So, in deepest appreciation after timeless deliberation, I am sending to you without further ado, my idea of reciprocation. Let me add though, an urgent idea I shall whisper this into your ear, don't let anyone get the old tin soldier set, as God's punishment might be severe.