The Art of Growing Old

As the days become shorter and cooler, And my age climbs a little farther up the ruler. Life has taken on a new and wonderful meaning. I’ve finally reached a point in life that many take to be demeaning I am an official member of the Old Timers Club, It’s an elite and prestigious hub. There is just one rule to join in this niche, You have to be as old as a rock and still able to scratch your own itch. No dues are charged we just gossip a lot, About what’s wrong with so and so and the ailments we’ve got. How many medications you’re on or what new thing the doctors have removed, And what side effects they have and whether they’re F.D.A. approved. Sometimes we reminisce about family till someone starts to cry. Then we just sit there rocking thinking on days gone by. There is one true saying, if you live long enough you too will grow old. So far it’s not a crime but they’re working on that I’ve been told. This exclusive club is known for its heartache and pain, But a lot of love is shown as long as you remain. It’s something we’ve earned and we have the scars to show. That growing old is not always the best way to go. As long as we’re able to gather or talk, And know that some one still cares whether we can stand and walk. I guess maybe it’s support this thing we seek. Cause growing old alone truly makes life reek. I think loneliness is the worse fear of all, Just waiting out your days and longing for somebody to come by or even just call. The young act like old age is a contagious disease, They might catch it if you happen to sneeze. I remember when depends was a state of mind, Not something you wore around your old behind. With that little thought I think I’ll close for now. That’s about all I think they’ll allow