An Old Man's Poem

A Man of Old

No man is old who wakes with joy to greet his day

To be able to do the things you once did as a boy

I'm done with counting the years until I fade away

I wish I could tell you my age but I can't remember

I don't remember getting old, It shouldn't happen to me

My eyes got bad and my knees got weak and I can't think

My body don't understand and it won't do what It's told

What's happening to me? I'm only sixty three

I never was that lazy, but this old body loves it best in bed

Though I'm always on the go, I sure do need my rest

For every time that I get up I fall asleep in the chair

So I guess it's best if we don't go there

Time passes by so fast as we watch our hair turn Grey

Just like the clouds in the sky they will surely fade away

We dream about those olden days when we had lots of fun

The girls came from everywhere to run their fingers through our hair

They say the Golden years are the best days of our lives

But the Golden years seems tarnished now as I sit here in this chair

For the things we used to do with joy and delight

Become harder and harder as each year passes us by

When I was just Seventeen I had the World in my hands

I could run all day and play till dawns early light

Now that I'm Sixty- four it just passes my on by

It takes my breath away just to go and get the mail

I guess you could say, I move just like a snail

But a snail's pace is still quite Ace

I move my own way, who's to say?

I hope I live to see another day