Staring in the mirror what do I see?
An eighteen-year-old looking at me.
That can’t be right, I’m seventy-one.
Is it my younger self or maybe my son?

How am I wrinkled when inside I am young?
I see myself as a hero, although indeed unsung.
Sadly, the skin on the outside has let me down.
Inwardly however, I still love to paint the town.

I can no longer do the things I used to do.
I could run for miles, now I prefer a brew.
My stamina is not what it was by far.
Now my activity is a day in the spa.

My ears are bigger, and my bladder is small.
There are some days when I can just about crawl.
If only my body hadn’t failed me so badly.
My mind would climb Everest, twice, quite gladly.