Methuselah Poem by Kim Barney

Methuselah ate what he found on his plate,
and never, as people do now,
did he note the amount of the calorie 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!

(Author Unknown)