There's nothing wrong with being old,
It comes to all, if truth be told.
The young think that the old are done,
And should stay home, their races run.
Our lives are chapters in a book,
And each one's worth a second look,
The pages full of joy and strife,
Both aspects of a busy life.
The young grow old, the old were young,
A fact on which the story's hung;
No use to grumble or to fear
The story's end, when bedtime's near.
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