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Somehow the skies don't seem so blue
        As they used to be;
Blossoms have a fainter hue,
        Grass less green I see.
There's no twinkle in a star,
        Dawns don't seem so gold . . .
Yet, of course, I know they are:
        Guess I'm growing old.

Somehow sunshine seems less bright,
        Birds less gladly sing;
Moons don't thrill me with delight,
        There's no kick in Spring.
Hills are steeper now and I'm
        Sensitive to cold;
Lines are not so keen to rhyme . . .
        Gosh! I'm growing old.

Yet in spite of failing things
        I've no cause to grieve;
Age with all its ailing brings
        Blessings, I believe:
Kindo' gentles up the mind
        As the hope we hold
That with loving we will find
Friendliness in human kind,
        Grace in growing old.

Added: 24 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 4 Sep 2026 3:31 AM | Viewed: 7179 times

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