I look in my mirror who do I see?
Some times a stranger staring back at me
I see the wrinkles forming as if right before my eyes
I say I feel like a teenager but my pains know that it’s lies
I am rushing up to 50 not long left now to go
It is just another birthday for this old so and so
Is 50 old? I am now not so sure
If I could be young again would I take the cure?
I must admit I like my age I find it quiet fun
To look down on the teenagers and call them all son
Dennis Walker
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/50-3/
