THE MIDDLE-AGE SONNET

 

I feel like I’m eighteen with a few pains;

Although, my back sometimes feels thirty-five.

And my blood may run thinner through my veins,

But as long as it flows, I am alive.

And you still look young, like when we first met–

I look somewhere between not old and dead;

And a glance from you can still make me sweat,

A smile from you can still go to my head.

I have a hard time believing I’m old–

I don’t know where all the many years went.

I’ve not reached the age where I’m always cold

But I have less days ahead than I’ve spent.

I’ve sung more songs than should ever be sung,

Though I miss the songs from when I was young.