Getting Younger

Getting Younger

Does age really matter, when you’re old and grey?
I find it rather fun to choose the age I’ll be today.
Yesterday was wet and dull, but I was four again.
Out I went in rubber boots, walking in the rain.
I splashed through every puddle, it gave some folks a smile
but I was having fun again. I was four just for a while.
Today the sun is shining, I’m going to the shop.
Today I shall be seven, I might buy a lollipop.
I see the neighbours looking. ‘Eccentric’ they all say.
If this is second childhood then look out, I’m on the way.

What use comparing ailments, discussing aching joints.
I think they’re all like children when I hear them scoring points.
Tomorrow is my birthday, I think I shall be eight.
I might get up quite early, or stay in bed quite late.
I may walk on the common and if the wind is right
I might just find I’m ten again and try to fly a kite.
For age is just a number; old age is what we dread
But the only thing important is the age inside my head.
So when folks say they’re old; no longer wish to stay alive,
I smile and say you’re only young – and me? I’m nearly five.