The Fear of Getting Old

Oh old weed Thy feet weathered Like that of a tree Like a child Always carried Thy beauty left behind Trembling feet What a painful joy Scattered teeth Grandchild taking thy as fun Knoweth not that Old though shall become Twisted face But beauty glance,once was Sun,laughing,cause you're at the end of the race If this is what it means To get old Then proudly I will tell the wind That it's not in my will!!