Growing Old

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.