At Eighty-Six

This poem, written by Thomas Robertson was published in the newspaper - there is a rather old and tattered cut out in my possession.

At Eighty Six

I've had a long and healthy life
And had my share of care and strife
Tho' fate has played me scurvy tricks
Yet still I'm gay at eighty-six.

Our lives consist of strange contrasts
Bright sunny blinks and wintery blasts
For joy and sorrow mingling mix
Still, life is sweet at eighty six.

A lightsome heart gives zest to things,
And often consolation brings,
To soothe the wounds that time inflicts
And savour gives at eighty-six.

In truth, methinks it is but meet
We should with smile our troubles greet
And every laugh and joke annex,
And cheerful be at eighty-six.

The rosy dawn of each new day
Shall light and guide us on our way
So stoutly kick against the pricks
In bold resolve at eighty-six.

Away with pessimistic moods;
My ban on he who sullen broods,
On hope's bright star your vision fix
And stand elate at eighty-six.

L'en voi-
Charon may wait with ready oar,
To waft me to the farther shore,
But I'm too young to think of Styx
For life is joy at eighty-six.