I have heard it said, that at my age life is golden.
What was meant when these words were spoken?

Reaching this time of life, I find to be anything but golden.
Old age leaving my body less flexible and somewhat broken.

My mind plays tricks, telling me I am still eighteen.
Body touts frequently, that I am an antique machine.

Looking at my reflection, I now see when into the mirror I peers.
Wild hairs growing from the end of my nose and out of my ears.

Wrinkles accentuate my face now, not tanned, tight skin.
Getup gone, energy low, batteries always need a chargin.

Legs like a frogs, don't know where they start, or my ass ends.
Thinking to myself, will I ever be able to keep up my depends?

I can't eat the things I once could, without wondering.
Will my belly toss and turn, or my ass be thundering?

Lately, I have become more and more an old curmudgeon.
Memory fading, my brain is quickly turning into badigeon.

Being distracted easily, seems to be the order these days.
I walk around trying to remember things, mind in a daze.

Some things I find more difficult to get up, not to mention.
The lasting power is gone, when it does stand at attention.

These so called golden years, are not what I had imagined.
Body bent, aches and pains, slower and less impassioned.

I imagine the only golden times that I will ever experience.
Memory will be completely gone of life's every occurrence.

Preoccupied, trying to remember where I began this saga.
Did I start it as a poem, maybe a story, or was it a sonata?

Turning circles, standing in one spot, asking of myself,
where was I going with this, did I leave it on that shelf?

I would like to continue on this tale of woe, filling every gap.
To tell the truth, I am worn-out, I really should go have a nap.