We lose teeth...Gain wrinkles.
Gain weight in the middle...No longer are we fit as a fiddle.
Bags under the eyes...No more thoughts of adventures as spies.
Hair that's either white or grey...All that's left are worries, when the arrival of our final judgement day.
Michael Gale
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-only-gets-old/
