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Always Seventeen

Young people think we're senile, that age has dimmed our wits,
At the first sign of a wrinkle, that we each turn into twits,
They think that we are different, and only time will tell, 
When they themselves are seventeen, but seventy as well. 
The mind is always willing, but flesh and bone are weak,
When energetically young at heart, with an arthritic tweak.

Hair may be grey or silver, but it can not hide the truth,
You're always young at heart, though longer in the tooth,
It's a cruel trick of time, which ages bone and body,
Making firm unwrinkled skin, look so lined and putty stodgy.
Old eyes can see the world, from a young but wiser mind,
Why is it that the tests of time, to the aged are unkind?

Three score years and ten, will never be enough,
For a seventy year old teenager, with laughter lines that puff.
We do not lose our faculties with every hair that greys,
If we lose concentration, we're remembering younger days. 
When I was young, I knew it all, at least I thought I did,
I'm older now, and wiser, than that seventeen year old kid.

I think she would have laughed at me, believing not a word,
A teenage senior citizen! How utterly absurd!
I'm writing from experience, fast approaching pension days,
The seventeen year old pensioner is wise in many ways.
Maybe her bones are creaking, but she knows a thing or two, 
And that pretty little teenager, now also knows it's true. 
 

© September 2004 - Carole A. M. Johnson

 

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