That's me, when I was twenty,
Good-looking and I knew it;
Times were ripe and plenty,
I was strong and I was fit.
That's me when I was thirty-five,
Still looking trim and good;
I was happy and very much alive,
Doing everything I thought I should.
Yep, that's me, at forty-nine,
A bit paunchy, but not too bad;
In my eyes there's still a shine,
Although inside, i'm feeling sad.
Sad to see the fleeting years of youth,
To watch the strength come tumbling down;
To know more clearly, words of truth,
To smile less often, and quick to frown.
That's me again, there I was sixty-one,
Hard to tell I'm still the same old fellow;
Over the years, I've had my share of fun,
Now I seem to just sit around and mellow.
This photo was taken just the other day,
I'm in the senior bracket, as you can tell;
Just a few memories ago, I was pitching hay,
Just a few memories ago, when I was well.
Not that I am feeling down and out,
Not that I am tossing in the towel;
But I have no more need to shout,
And no more need to party or to howl.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem