She complains about the weather
She complains about her health
She complains about being too busy
She complains the snow won't melt.
It's really grating on the nerves
It gets hard to be polite
It strains the patience to no end
Though you try with all your might.
It's really not that easy
To face the aging years
But it doesn't help to whine and gripe
And to irritate your peers.
(I hope I don't turn out that way
As my aging years advance
I hope to show how it should be done
If I just get the chance.)
But looking back at my dim past
I'm afraid I must admit
This poem is all about me
That complainer - I am IT!