But young at heart - God keep us that! Let care be laughed to scorn.
Let's keep our backs to eventide and always face the morn.
Let's keep the ripeness of our noon to guide the girls and boys
Whose youth is callower than ours and lacking deeper joys.
The snow of age may dust our hair, it cannot reach within.
We'll teach those careworn youths of ours to bear their griefs and grin -
Go to the one whose empty life has palled on him and say:
"A wiser youth has come to me while you were turning gray."
This poem makes fun of growing old, it points out things that happen to everyone, but in the end the message is enjoy and just live life!
The older we get
The more we forget
But who cares
Only those who dare
To have that facelift
And then be miffed!
A cute poem that uses wheels to describe how the years go by.
Seven Ages Of Wheels Poet Unknown
A wicker carriage we provide
In which the baby first may ride.
With kilts, a yellow cart arrives,
A doubtful billy-goat he drives.
In knickerbockers, down the pike,
He circuses upon his bike.
The age of love and gasoline
Demands a sixty-horse machine.
The years advance; he rides afar
In his palatial private car.
Old, feeble, if the day be fair,
His valet wheels him in the chair.
Then one last trip he takes on wheels
His head no higher than his heels.
Not My Age Poet Unknown
That’s not my age; it’s just not true.
My heart is young; the time just flew.
I’m staring at this strange old face,
And someone else is in my place!
Looking Back By Deacon Green
If I were a boy again, — ah, me! —
How very, very good I'd be!
I would not sulk, I would not cry,
I'd scorn to coax for cake or pie.
I would not cause Mamma distress,
I'd never hate to wash and dress.
I'd rather learn a task than play,
And ne’er from school I'd run away.
I'd any time my jack-knife lend,
And share my toys with every friend.
I'd gladly go to bed at six,
And never be “as cross as sticks."
I'd run with joy to take a pill,
And mustard wear whenever ill.
I'd never wish to skate or swim,
But wisely think of dangers grim.
And, oh, I'd never, just for fun,
Beg to go hunting with a gun!
At every naughty thing I did —
For mischief might be somewhere hid —
I'd drop at once upon my knees,
And say, “Dear Teacher, flog me, please."
It’s easy to be good, you see,
When looking back from sixty-three.
Snap, Crackle, Pop Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
I feel like snap, crackle, pop
I wish my age would just stop
I bend down and my knees do snap
Makes me feel like my legs will flap
Then my arthritis makes me crackle
I wonder what next I can tackle
And if I turn too fast I hear "pop"
My neck makes this noise like an old mop.
But let me tell you it's okay
A snap, a crackle, a pop, lets me know I am not decay
There is still some life in these old bones
I won't waste it with complaints and groans
And I am not going to shrivel up and die
If someone asks my age I will just lie!
I Did Dread Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
You are now a senior they said
Oh great, that I did dread!
What is good about aging I ask
Everything seems like such a task.
A senior that means I will have gray hair
Maybe I'll dye it purple for some flare.
And wrinkles that appear out of the blue
Where they came from I haven't a clue.
It seems I walk a little slower
And things seem more difficult to jump over
And never before did I need glasses to see
And my bladder keeps wanting me to pee.
I sit back and wonder about the years
That have flown by and just disappeared
And then I realized no sense in being down
I might as well be the senior clown.
I may not be able to do everything
But to others a smile I can bring
So a senior I may be
My goal is to make others happy!
Golden Years Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
They call them the golden years
Well if that is the case why don't more cheer?
Age is the one thing people fret about
Some even sit and pout!
There are many things we can control
But tell me who sets a goal
To see time passing and get old?
It seems to all start at the 50 threshold.
They say your memory starts to go
You forget things you use to know
You see a person, but forget their name
On your age, you do blame!
You talk about the good old days
Whenever someone visits and stays.
And when the TV is on
You close your eyes and yawn.
Golden years look forward they will come
You think never, I am young.
But before you know it you will find
Your younger years will be left behind.
The Age Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
30 is the age that they say you're old
but you are still young and pretty bold.
Then comes 40 and you may feel
You've been given a rotten deal.
But wait, 50 appears out of the blue
And that age may be a bit of an issue
And before you know it 60 arrives
And you're thankful you have survived
And some of us see 70 years
People stop and call us dear.
The big 80 surprises you
You can't do what you use to.
And if 90 you do see
To stay awake drink more coffee
100 is the age that is amazing still
To get around takes some skill.
Forget about the age you are
Set your goals and you'll go far.
Yes with age you may have to adjust a bit
But it doesn't mean you have to sit and knit!!
We hope these poems on aging bring a smile to your face. Aging can cause us to cry or to smile. You might as well smile as there is nothing
you can do about it. Aging is something that happens to each and every one of us and there is
no sense in wasting your life moaning or complaining about your age. In fact, as you age, you realize the importance of living each day and
being happy, as you never know what day will be your last. So give a smile, crack a laugh, be happy and content with your age!!