When I Grow Old

I’m looking forward to growing old,
As strange as it may seem.
When faced with the alternative
It gives me quite a chill.
Gumming meals and spinning wheels,
Although vicariously,
Is oh so far superior to
Lying lifeless, cold and still.

Age is more a state of mind
Than clocked by calendar,
Creeping by at lightning speed
To wonder where it’s gone.
Melancholy musings muddle
Multi-facet memories
As plaintive pipers, sweetly strumming,
Play a favorite song.
Looking back with sweet regret,
Recapturing the gold.
Tilting windmills in my lusty dreams
When I grow old.

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