Before we turn into a stiff
life has four stages––here’s the riff.
The first stage is when we are young,
a story that is gladly sung,
and lasts until we’re sixty five,
and after that if we’re alive
we enter what’s now all the rage,
and called by most the “young old age.”
It lasts until we’re seventy-four,
when we pass through another door,
becoming what is called “old old, ”
which lasts till eighty-four, I’m told,
when all lapse into old that oldest,
the stage where only those who’re boldest
may dare to play their final role,
until they’re buried in a hole,
unless, of course, they predecease,
and can’t attend your obsequies.

gershon hepner

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/four-ages/