Methuselah ate what he found on his plate, And never, as people do now, Did he note the amount of the calory count; He ate it because it was chow. He wasn't disturbed as at dinner he sat, Devouring a roast or a pie, To think it was lacking in granular fat Or a couple of vitamins shy. He cheerfully chewed each species of food, Unmindful of troubles or fears Lest his health might be hurt By some fancy dessert; And he lived over nine hundred years. |