ON GROWING OLD
When I sit and consider my lost youth
I donít ponder long, to tell you the truth,
I may be old and have gray hair,
A face lined with time, but I donít care.
I can stay in bed as long as I choose
And not worry about the money Iíd lose
If Iím not out there in all that commotion,
Working and waiting for the big promotion.
Iíve been there, done that and Iíd rather be
Just sitting here; reading Modern Maturity.
No windows to scrape when rain comes with a freeze,
Iím snug inside to do as I please.
I can watch a movie or read a book,
If I donít feel like it, I donít have to cook.
No babies to tend, no young ones to chase,
Oh, I admit; I regret I canít keep their pace.
Iíve put on pounds, have aches in my knees
And sometimes, my breath comes with a wheeze
But when my birthday rolls around I'm content to be,
Just sitting here, drawing Social Security.
By Lora Cox © 2001
This poem has been published by The International Poetry Society
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