Nearly every year, Grandad would write a poem and take a picture for his birthday. Here is a compilation of the remaining birthday poems:
I
haven’t gone to Hell or Heaven
So
I’ve reached the age of seventy-seven
My
teeth are false, my hair is thin
But
I’m in good shape for the shape I’m in
I
am so pudgy my clothes don’t fit
I
don’t work much, I mostly sit
I
thought perhaps you’d like to see
So
I took this photograph of me
I
may be old and weak and slow
But
I’m not ready yet to go
So
I’ll just let the Devil wait
Then
next year I’ll be seventy-eight.
D.B.
Cox
On
this very important date
I
reached the age of seventy-eight
I
wasn’t sure that I’d survive
But
I think that I am still alive
My
teeth are false, my hair’s still thin
I’m
still OK for the shape I’m in
I
have a lot of high-powered pills
To
cure all kids of Old Age Ills
If
I take my pills I’ll be just fine
Then
next year I’ll be seventy-nine
D.B.
Cox
HAPPY
BIRTHDAY TO ME
I’ve
reached the age of seventy-nine
I
says to myself, “I’m feeling fine”
Self
says, “Your aches and pains are few
But
you’ve got lots of miles on you”
Then
I says, “Yes but I’m all right
Cause
I don’t smoke or drink or fight
And
even though I may be queer
I’ll
be eighty this time next year”
D.B.
Cox
I’ve
reached the age of eighty
And
life has just begun
I’m
in my second childhood
I
should have lots of fun
If
I have lots of aches and pains
It’s
mostly in my head
Forget
about the aches and pains
That’s
what the doctor said
If
I reach up for things real high
Look
out, alas, alack!
Instead
of getting what I want
I
fall flat on my back
And
then if I stoop over
To
clean up this old place
I
just keep going forward
And
fall flat on my face
My
toenails need trimming
To
do that would be neat
But
here’s the trouble with that chore
I
cannot reach my feet
I’ll
throw out my comb and brush
I’m
running out of hair
My
head resembles heaven
For
there’s no parting there
It’s
hard to read the paper
I
have real poor eyesight
And
all my teeth for just like stars
They
come out every night
And
when I go down town to eat
I
find I’m prone to loiter
That’s
the reason I’ve developed
This
dad-burn table goiter
I
guess that I’m real lucky
So
I’ll stop feeling sore
And
wonder what I’ll do if I
Hang
on for eighty more
D.B.
Cox
ANOTHER
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
I’ve
reach the age of eighty-two
For
me that’s really something new
That
equals two years plus four score
I’ve
never been this old before
And
though it’s sad I’ll try to grin
I’ll
never be this young again
I
try to cure most of my ills
By
taking lots of high-priced pills
And
even though I’m low on wealth
I’ll
try to take care of my health
There’s
lots of things I mustn’t do
So
listed here are just a few
I
will not ride in those fast cars
And
I’ll stay out of all those bars
I
won’t argue with any cop
And
chasing girls will have to stop
I’ll
do the things that are the best
And
always get a lot of rest
I’ll
be as good as I can be
Then
next year I’ll be eighty-three
D.B.
Cox
I
haven’t got to Hell or Heaven
And
now it’s Nineteen-Eighty-Seven
I
didn’t know if I’d survive
But
I’m still here and half
I
didn’t celebrate this year
I
didn’t even have a beer
I
hate to go out in the cold
I
wonder if I’m getting old
I’ve
reach the age of eighty-three
I’m
still as happy as can be
If
I catch cold and start to whine
I
say to me, “You’re feeling fine”
I’m
getting taller I declare
I’ve
grown right straight up through my hair
If
I can hand on for twelve months more
Then
next year I’ll be eighty-four
D.B.
Cox
ANOTHER
BRAIN STORM
It’s
Nineteen-Hundred-Eighty-Eight
And
I’m too old to celebrate
I
didn’t go to Hell or Heaven
In
Nineteen-Hundred-Eighty-Seven
And
I’m so glad that I’m still here
I’ll
stay at least another year
I
hope it’s better in Eighty-Eight
And
the world’s not filled with so much hate
I’ve
reached the age of eighty-four
That’s
older than I’ve been before
It
makes me sad to realize
I’ll
never be this young again
So
I’ll keep right on plugging away
And
exercise most every day
And
I’ll behave and stay alive
Then
next year I’ll be eighty-five
D.B.
Cox
ANOTHER
OF D.B.’S BRAIN STORMS
I
guess I’m still alive because
I
haven’t gone to Hell or Heaven
I’ve
hung around another year
And
reached the age of eighty-seven
I’ve
never been this old before
I’ll
take it with a grin
Because
I’m really sure that I
Will
never be this young again
I
guess the Stork delivered me
In
Nineteen-Hundred-Four
It
really was an awful shock
I’d
never been born before
It
was a cold and blustery day
So
he wrapped in a nice warm cover
Then
left at a home so I
Would
be close to my mother
When
I was just a little type
I
was ornery as could be
If
I had been my parents
I
would have drowned me
When
I was old enough for school
I
wasn’t too good and not too bad
But
when I finally graduated
It
sure did make the teachers glad
So
I kept right on growing older
And
getting bigger too
I
finally reached adulthood
Like
most all knot-heads do
I
went to work in the oil fields
I
was lucky to be hired
I
worked for lots and lots of years
And
finally retired
I’ve
been retired for a long time now
There’s
been some tears but lots of laughter
And
lately I’ve been thinking about
That
thing called the here-after
Some
say that after we pass over
We
could come back again
We
might be almost anything
Expect
we won’t be men
If
we come back again they say
We
don’t know what we’ll be
I
wouldn’t want to be a fly
For
someone might swat me
There
are lots of things I think about
I wouldn’t
want to be
I’d
hate to be an old plow horse
For
work and I do not agree
I
wouldn’t want to be a pig
For
instance an old shoat
Another
thing I’d hate to be
Is
a dadburn billy goat
I
could come back as a grizzly bear
I
don’t know how one feels
They
sleep from fall until spring
That’s
too long between meals
If
I came back as a giraffe
That’s
worse than being a goat
It
would be revoltin’
If
I got a sore throat
I might
come back as a grey wolf
But
I have heard it said
If
I ate some old rancher’s sheep
He’d
shoot me in the head
I’d
hate to be a dadburn snake
That’s
worse than being a their
They
say when one crawls through the grass
That
tickles underneath
I’ve
thought about this coming back
But
after hearing what’s been said
I
don’t think I’ll come back again
I
think I’ll just stay dead
D.B.
Cox