Growing old to some may mean dying;
Relinquishing the attributes of youth.
Once we become seventy or eighty,
What more of life's left; is this true?
I feel young and happy on the inside
No regrets, I've been blessed, each day's new.
Grey hairs and wrinkles may adorn me
Oh, but I still feel life's joys, just like you!
Life may have made me a lot slower, but
Don't give up on me yet; I've more living to do!
Entry into Brian Strand’s Contest: CONTEST NO 183 any form/theme MAX 10 lines. Do NOT add name, photo or other info. Just the poem please.