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Monday, 22 December 2014


I went to the optician,
For my eyes were all a-blur,
He tested me on the letters chart
And I failed with a sigh and a grrrr.

“How bad is it?” I asked.
“My sight was always clear.”
He looked at me and shook his head:
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”

“Sometimes getting older,
Eyeballs fade and lose their gleam,
And it’s glasses or contact lenses
Or that worrying laser beam.

“No choice if you want to read,
No choice if you want to write, 
No choice if you want to watch TV,
Or drive all through the night. 

“No choice if you want to avoid
Slips and trips and falls,
Bumping into furniture
Or bouncing off the walls.

“So, here’s my diagnosis,
For eyes once so amazing,
Your peepers need the strongest specs,
Complete with double-glazing.”

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