Growing Old

Somehow the skies don't seem so blue
As they used to be;
Blossoms have a fainter hue,
Grass less green I see.
There's no twinkle in a star,
Dawns don't seem so gold . . .
Yet, of course, I know they are:
Guess I'm growing old.

Somehow sunshine seems less bright,
Birds less gladly sing;
Moons don't thrill me with delight,
There's no kick in Spring.
Hills are steeper now and I'm
Sensitive to cold;
Lines are not so keen to rhyme . . .
Gosh! I'm growing old.

Yet in spite of failing things
I've no cause to grieve;
Age with all its ailing brings
Blessings, I believe:
Kindo' gentles up the mind
As the hope we hold
That with loving we will find
Friendliness in human kind,
Grace in growing old.

by Robert William Service

Comments (3)

Around the house the flakes fly faster,   And all the berries now are gone  From holly and cotoneaster  Around the house. The flakes fly! - faster  Shutting indoors that crumb-outcaster  We used to see upon the lawn  Around the house. The flakes fly faster,   And all the berries now are gone! EXPLAIN
Triolets are difficult. I can think of very little I would want to repeat three times in a poem
Around the clock I read old Hardy Until the pages all are done. My dogs will call me worse than tardy around the clock. I read old Hardy Prose and poem as mind grows lardy And half my sanity is gone Around the clock. I read old Hardy Until the pages all are done.