The cracks on my lips
From when I kissed the wind
My faith is bruised
From the times I’ve sinned
Aches in my heart
From the loves that I’ve lost
The lines on my face
Is my vanity’s cost
As each year passes
My reactions slow
Some people might say
That I’ve let myself go.
Walking sticks, hearing aids
Lotions and pills
To keep me more active
And cure all my ills
Although, you see it around you
And you’re frequently told
Nothing can prepare you
For just growing old.