As my blue jeans fade,
the wear and tear starts to show.
I am sure it's been a decade
to throw them out, would bring such sorrow
Time seams to be running out,
my hair is thinning no doubt.
I'll have to start combing it a different way,
cause there's no way I'm getting a toupee.
The smile on my face is also sagging
and when I walk my feet are dragging.
Getting old is not much fun,
but I still am my mothers son.
yes, just last year my mom said she still loves all her children who have grown 50s. the love never dies, she said. sincerely, john.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a wonderful poem. Great Job. |x|Sierra|x|