Gettin' Old
It doesn't seem right
When you think of it cold,
All this creaking of bones
That they call growing old.
When you're getting short-sighted
And find you need spec's,
And your memory's so bad
You don't know what comes next.
All this sagging of flesh
And this hair going grey,
All this walking with sticks,
I can hear myself say
'If the clock could be turned
I would turn it today' ...
But I know that it can't
So it's back to the fray!
(Written April 1994)
poem by John Carter Brown
Added by Poetry Lover
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