Becoming Old

Another short poem that requires no description and probably doesn’t merit much attention. Some of the ideas might appeal to anyone that feels that they are becoming old, regardless of their age.

Becoming Old


I cannot remember becoming old

That moment when I first earned the appellation

When I was welcomed into the fold

Of those of another generation

I was still young as a husband and father

And younger still when I reached grandfather


Now they look at my aging face

And, maybe, the way I stand or walk

And see the joys and worries that leave their trace

Or they may listen to the way I talk

But what I regard as experience’s wealth

Some interpret as a sign of ill-health


But I let them regard themselves as youthful

Though often self-preoccupied

And not always totally truthful

But that doesn’t mean that to others they’ve lied

It’s simply a story that they have told

They are all still young – just becoming old