50 - Poem by Dennis Walker
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
Comments about 50 by Dennis Walker
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You