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