It’s not the same face that I wore in my youth.
The eyes have grown dim and I’m long in the tooth.
My smile seems the same, and though voice is still deep
down lines made by laughter run tears that I weep.
I\'m not the same man who was carefree and cool,
I fret and I frequently feel like a fool.
My kids come along to conspire and collude,
to snigger at Dad when he calls out, ‘Hey, Dude!’
There’s not the same joy, merely mocking and mirth
that jangles and jars, and I’m short of self-worth!
My joints ache at dawn and my thoughts are confused.
A tap on the wrist and I’m battered and bruised.
They’re not the same days that I loved as a child.
The nights have drawn in; they are no longer wild.
Don’t even suggest I just shrug off my fears:
That’s grasping at straws and just grinding the gears!