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!