Getting old,

It’s such a relative term.

It’s more of a state of mind

Than it is anything else.

When I get old,

I won’t really be old,

I’ll still play on the swings,

And laugh at little things.

I won’t be confused

And look down upon

The new generations.

And most of all,

I’ll still be me,

Not a grumpy,

Grey, Grandma.

But as I age,

So does the

Rest of the World.

And soon enough,

Everyone that matters

Will fade away,

Leaving me,

Leaving me till

I’m just as faded

And grey.