When I Am Old

When I Am Old

This poem, which shares it’s name with today’s other post, explores another, more positive, view of getting old.

When I Am Old

When I am old, I will walk with a stick
As I walk to the garden, my slippers will flick
And I’ll throw them both off with a spirited kick
And I’ll dance in the sweltering sun

I’ll dance in the sweltering, sweltering sun
As the pools in the garden still, weltering, run
And for all the tree’s leaves, they’ll be sheltering none
I’ll sing loudly and badly, such beltering fun

When I am old, I’ll be jolly and sweet
I’ll be quick in my mind, though I’m slow on my feet
I will read til I’m blind, only death will defeat
As I sit by a crackling fire

I’ll sit by the crackling, crackling fire
A wizened old joker, a cackling liar
Stamping out miserable, tackling dire
Until I’m set free from this shackling attire

When I am old, I'll have an old, greying dog

When I am old, I’ll have an old, greying dog

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