Poet: Walter Learned
Sweet sixteen is shy and cold,
Calls me "sir," and thinks me old;
Hears in an embarrassed way
All the compliments I pay;
Finds my homage quite a bore,
Will not smile on me, and more
To her taste she finds the noise
And the chat of callow boys.
Not the lines around my eye,
Deepening as the years go by;
Not white hairs that strew my head,
Nor my less elastic tread;
Cares I find, nor joys I miss,
Make me feel my years like this:
Sweet sixteen is shy and cold,
Calls me "sir," and thinks me old.
Poet: Karle Wilson Baker
Let me grow lovely, growing old,
So many fine things do:
Laces, and ivory, and gold,
And silks need not be new;
And there is healing in old trees,
Old streets a glamour hold;
Why may not I, as well as these,
Grow lovely, growing old?
More poems about growing older:
Funny Birthday Poems About Old Age
Poems On Aging
I Wanna Grow Old With You Poems
The Four Ages of Man
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Some complain and some moan
As the years pass by you hear them groan
But age is all in your attitude
And by the things you say and do.
In life at every stage
We can focus on our age
But if age is put aside
We can take it all in stride.
Keep your attitude positive and bright
Take each day and look for the light
You see our attitude plays a big part
Of whether we are young or just an old fart.
Find more funny birthday poems to bring a smile to the birthday person!
by Carew Papritz, from The Legacy Letters
Old is old at any age.
Old is when you quit asking questions about this, that, and everything.
Old is when you forget how to love-or worse, don't care.
Old is when you don't want to dance anymore.
Old is when you don't want to learn anything new except how to be old.
Old is when people tell you that you are old-and you believe them.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer, ©2021
Growing old has its ups and down
You can smile or you can frown
Like everything in life we find
Challenges that come to mind.
No matter what age you at
You will always find that
Life is truly what you make it
It can be a downer or it can be a hit.
Focus on the positive things
That this age has to bring.
Look forward with expectation and hope
Just don't sit and mope!
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer, ©2021
What does growing old mean?
Should you be sad or should you be keen?
Does it mean life is a bore?
Or does it mean you should open the door?
No matter the age you find
You can always be kind
There is always a goal to achieve
If you work and just believe
Growing old can be the best
It can be a time you feel blest
You can help others too
Give love to all and what you do
Wisdom comes with age
Unlike any other stage
Share your knowledge with others
Remember we are all brothers.
So growing old depends on you
How you see it and what you do
Don't let others define the meaning
Go forward full of living.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Growing old is not so bad
When I'm with you I am not sad
Together we will always be
In love and happy.
We have seen many a change
Some good, some strange.
Together we have weathered them all
Some big, some small.
So as we grow old together
We will face all kind of weather
But together we will happy be
Because of our love, you and me.
Poet: M. E. B.
How fast the years are onward rollin;
How long 'tis now since last we met;
Yet time and absence have not power
To make us dearest friends forget.
Sweet dreams may fade, but in their places
Will live sweet memories of the past;
To cheer us when the days are weary.
And lend their brightness to the last.
quotes about aging
Poet: Marc Cook
At six - I well remember when -
I fancied all folks old at ten.
But when I'd turned my first decade,
Fifteen appeared more truly staid.
But when the fifteenth round I'd run,
I thought none old till twenty-one.
Then oddly, when I'd reached that age,
I held that thirty made folks sage.
But when ray thirtieth year was told,
I said: " At twoscore men grow old!"
Yet twoscore came and found me thrifty,
And so I drew the line at fifty.
But when I reached that age, I swore
None could be old until threescore!
And here I am at sixty now,
As young as when at six, I trow!
'Tis true, my hair is somewhat gray,
And that I use a cane, to-day;
'Tis true these rogues about my knee
Say "Grandpa!" when they speak to me;
But, bless your soul, I'm young as when
I thought all people old at ten!
Perhaps a little wiser grown -
Perhaps some old illusions flown;
But wond'ing still, while years have rolled,
When is it that a man grows old?
Poet: Rollin J. Wells
A little more tired at close of day,
A little less anxious to have our way,
A little less ready to scold and blame,
A little more care for a brother's name,
And so, we are nearing the journey's end.
Where time and eternity meet and blend.
A little less care for bonds and gold,
A little more zest in the days of old,
A broader view and a saner mind.
And a little more love for all mankind.
And so, we are faring, adown the way
That leads to the gates of a better day.
A little more love for the friends of youths
A little less zeal for established truth,
A little more charity in our views,
A little less thirst for the daily news.
And so, we are folding our tents away,
And passing in silence, at close of day.
A little more leisure to sit and dream,
A little more real the things unseen,
A little nearer to those ahead.
With visions of those long-loved and dead.
And so, we are going where all must go.
To the place the living may never know.
A little more laughter, a few more tears.
And we shall have told our increasing years
The book is closed, and the prayers are said,
And we are a part of the countless dead.
Thrice happy, if then some soul can say,
"I live, because he has passed my way."
Poet: Bernard Barton
"Old age is dark and unlovely." Ossian
Oh, say not so! A bright old age is thine,
Calm as the gentle light of summer eves,
Ere twilight dim her dusky mantle weaves;
Because to thee is given, in thy decline,
A heart that does not thanklessly repine
At aught of which the hand of God bereaves,
Yet all he sends with gratitude receives.
May such a quiet, thankful close be mine!
And hence thy fireside chair appears to me
A peaceful throne - which thou wert formed to fill;
Thy children ministers who do thy will;
And those grandchildren, sporting round thy knee,
Thy little subjects, looking up to thee
As one who claims their fond allegiance still.
