I am a Little Old Lady

I am a little old lady, I am, a little old lady.

I go to bed each night at eleven and feel the cold instead of the rising heat.

I take my tea with lemon and sugar to stay warm.

My blood pressure is up: Are you stressed, the doctor asks?

I am tired and my bones creak.

A week of coughing my lungs are crimped as my style.

I am a little old lady, a little old lady of ten days of coughing.

I never used to be this often this cold in Chicago.

But I was not a little old lady then.

Not like now.