'57 Chevy

'57 CHEVY I've entered what's called my golden years, But there's silver in my hair. Is that the color of my setting sun? If it is, When did I get here? My tattoos are all very faded, Blurred lines running together. My breasts don't sit high anymore, And my arthritis forecasts the weather. As I go about my days, Carrying out the routines of life, I forget the shimmering blonde is gone And I'm no longer someone's young wife. When I go to the doctor and pharmacy, Or even the convenience store, People seem so curious about me, They always want to know more. So when I'm asked for my date of birth, Although there's silver in my hair, I just smile and say "I'm a classic! Like a pink and white Chevy Belaire."