Growing Old

At six I well remember when
I fancied all folks old at ten.
But when I turned my first decade,
Fifteen appeared more truly staid.
But when the fifteenth round I'd run,
I thought none old 'til twenty-one.
Then, oddly, when I'd reached that age,
 I held that thirty made folks sage.
But when my thirtieth year was told I said,
Yet two score came and found me thrifty,
And so I drew the line at fifty.
But when I reached that age, I swore,
None could be old until three score.
And here I am at seventy now,
As young as when at seven, I trow!
'Tis true my hair is somewhat gray,
And that I use a cane today;

'Tis true these rogues about my knee,
Say "Grandpa," when they speak to me;

But, bless your soul, I'm young as when
I thought all people old at ten!
Perhaps a little wiser grown
Perhaps some old illusions flown;
But wondering still, while years have tolled,
When it is that a man grows old.

MARC EUGENE COOK