Poem for an older dad

I wrote this for my dad's eightieth this year.

Age is a curious thing, hard to grasp, 

as it's a nimble fellow.

Happy Birthday says someone with a bellow.

Fast, quick, sprinting...tiny toes to work clothes.

You are out into the big wide world, exploring it all. 

Money goes into your pocket and out again.

Bills need to be paid and money put away.

Everyone's gone from courting to marriage,

there with a Cinderella carriage,

it trots on and on, time is fleeting, slowly keeping

memories locked away for that special day.

When you look at all the photos of years before.

Eighty is your year, to evaluate your years,

Celebrate your good times and laugh until tears.

Greater than any comedian, are life's common mishaps.

Maybe Eighty-One will be better, perhaps?