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Posted Sunday, September 18, 2011, at 7:24 PM

Not long ago, we had a way of really looking cool, Now we're 55 years older, and look more like a fool (the same one who tried to impress the girls, 55 years ago, only now much older). Ha. Happy Reunion Class of 1956, and still popping wheelie's.
I received a poem today, that falls in line with the Class of 56 reunion, to be held in a week, Sept 23, thru 25. I had planned to attempt to pen something, but this one already covered the aging of a class, so well, I just had to use it, with minor modification. Hope you enjoy.


Author Unknown

(Some editing by Arley)

Every five years, as summertime nears,

An announcement arrives in the mail,

'Our reunion is planned; it'll be really grand;

Make plans to attend without fail.'

I'll never forget the first time we met;

We tried very hard to impress.

We drove fancy cars, smoked big cigars,

And wore our most elegant dress.

Quite an affair, most all the class there,

Held at a fancy hotel.

We wined, we dined, and acted refined,

We all thought the evening went swell.

The men all conversed about who would be first,

To achieve great fortune and fame;

The spouses described life in fine houses,

Lying also, about looking the same.

The homecoming queen, who once had been lean,

Now weighed in at one-ninety-six.

The jocks who were there had lost most of their hair,

And cheerleaders could no longer do kicks.

No one had heard about the class nerd,

Who'd be guiding spacecraft to the moon;

Or poor little Jane, who'd always been plain;

Having married a shipping tycoon.

The boy we'd decreed 'most apt to succeed,'

Was serving ten years in the pen,

While the one voted 'least' now was a priest;

Just shows you can err now and then.

They awarded a prize to one of the guys,

Who seemed to have aged the least;

Another was given to the grad who had driven,

The farthest to be at the feast.

They took a class picture, a curious mixture,

Of beehives, crew cuts and loud ties.

Tall, short, or skinny, the style was the mini;

You never saw so many thighs.

Twenty-fifth get-together, no one cared whether,

They impressed their classmates or not.

The mood was informal, a whole lot more normal;

By this time we'd all gone to pot.

It was held out-of-doors, at the lake shores;

Eating hamburgers, coleslaw, and beans.

Then most of us lay around in the shade,

In our comfortable T-shirts and jeans.

The fiftieth year, it was abundantly clear,

We were definitely over the hill.

Those who weren't dead had to crawl out of bed,

And be home in time for their pill.

And now I can't wait; they've set the date;

Our sixtieth comes soon, I am told.

It should be a ball, they've rented the hall,

At the Shady Rest Home for the old.

Repairs have been made, on my hearing aid;

My pacemaker turned up on high.

The wheelchair is oiled, teeth have been boiled;

I bought a new wig, and glass eye.

I'm feeling quite hearty, and ready to party,

Gonna dance until dawn's early light.

It'll be lots of fun, But I hope there is one

Other person, who makes it that night.

Life is a blessing, to still drive a car,

Praise God, we have made it this far.


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