Seems the newspaper print gets smaller each day,
And people speak softer--can't hear what they say.
My teeth are my own, and I have the receipt.
And my glasses identify people I meet.
Oh, I've slowed down a bit, not a lot, I am sure.
You see, it's not that I'm old, I am only mature.
Washing my hair has turned it all white.
But don't call it gray, saying "blonde" is just right.
My car is all paid for, not a nickel is owed.
Yet a kid yells, "Old duffer, get off of the road!"
My friends all get older, much faster than me.
They seem much more wrinkled, from what I can see.
I've got "character lines", not wrinkles I'm sure,
But don't call me old, I am only mature.
The steps in the houses they're building today,
Are so high that they take, your breath all away.
And the streets are much steeper than ten years ago.
So that should explain why my walking is slow.
But I'm keeping up on what's hip and what's new,
And I think I can still dance a mean boogaloo.
Yes I'm still in the running, in this I'm secure.
You see I'm not really old, I am only mature.
Author: Unknown (Not Me!)
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