For three score years I’ve lived and loved to the tune of my own song
O’ dreaded years to you I say, beware my soul is strong..
I’ll stand up high no feeble bones, no fear of silver hair.
I’ll not conduct my last romance from an antique rocking chair.
I’ll roam the world like younger folk have done for years on end,
if I can’t keep pace with youth today, by God  I will pretend.
No shame in age I will remark, if the rebel children ask
just the wisdom of a thousand years, behind this wrinkled mask.