POEM FOR GETTING OLD

 SPECIAL POEM FOR SENIOR CITIZENS

A row of bottles on the shelf
Caused me to analyze myself

One yellow pill I have to pop
Goes to my heart so it won't stop;

A little white one that I take
Goes to my hands so they won't shake;

The blue ones that I use a lot
Tell me I'm happy when I am not;

The purple pill goes to my brain
And tells me that I have no pain;

The capsules tell me not to wheeze
Or cough or choke or even sneeze;

The red pills, smallest of them all,
Go to my blood, lest I should fall;

The orange ones, so big and bright
Prevent my leg cramps in the night;

Such an array of brilliant pills
Helping to cure all kinds of ills.

But what I�d really like to know......
Is what tells each one where to go!