Getting old is a bitch,
Just ask the poor or even the rich.
Wrinkles come and muscles sag,
You become your mother and dad.
Bent over and stooped with bone brittle,
You actually lose height and become little.
Your brain gets slower and your tempo slows,
Growing old can is summoned up by the words, “It blows”
People do not listen to you even though you have the sage advice,
Your caught in the middle like an egg in a vise.
Everyone thinks you are getting senile and losing your marbles.
You mix up your words and your vocabulary become garble.
Your skin gets spots aged by the weather and sun,
Your arms become flabby and there is a sag in your bun.
No work and you just sit around just waiting for the reaper,
You turn up the volume on your television and ignore the beeper.
You get confused easily and forget a name,
Age is ruthless land who do you blame?