By Leola Snider Perkins

Time has a way of passing,
We don't know where it goes,
But we wake up one morning
And think: "I'm getting old."

I cannot think so well,
Or bend to tie my shoes,
And if we aren't fat, we're thin,
And clothes all fit too loose.
Our hair is thin: our hands are rough;

Lines that are in our face
Look like ripples on the water
And we think: "I am some case!"
I'm sure I look just awful;

I have lost my pretty form;
No one admires me now,
As I have no special charm.
One time we had our teeth,

And eyes could see so well,
Our hair was bright and shiny,
But our posture, too, has failed.
We cannot walk upright and straight;

We stumble some at times;
We get so tired of waiting,
When we have to stand in line.
We can't give up; we all love life,
So with the shape we're in,

We hold heads high and go right on
And face life with a grin.