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Robert W Service - Growing Old
Work rating: Medium

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.
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