I have a horse that is past his prime,
Asleep on his feet half the time,
Wheezes when he walks,
And looks damn silly
When he tries to play
Stallion to a filly.

I have a dog whose nose can't smell, 
Licks the hand of every ne'er-do-well
Walks hunched sideways, left leg lame
(so the scruffy mutt can't hunt game).
As a canine pal of mine
He is clearly past his prime.

In the fridge there is a pear
That's gone bad like the mind of Lear
The flesh inside once firm and juicy
Is now lifeless, soft and mushy.
Whatever Nature's grand design
This fruit is clearly past its prime.

Then there's me, of whom it's said,
Is just two steps away from dead.
Skin that's slack, muscles weak,
Bones that crackle, click and creak.
 

Like old Rover I can growl
But have no bite, just a howl.
I can sense if a filly's near
But my ears they can't much hear,
And with eyes obscure, and gait uncertain
Out to stud I am a dud.