Seasons come, and seasons go,
before you know it, your old, and slow.
Your hair is grey, and your eyes are dim,
the teeth are gone, and you have a double chin.
You only hear half of what is said,
in the night you are up two or three times, from your bed.
On awakening you feel not to bad,
but when you move, suddenly parts begin to ache,
that you never even knew you had.
It is such a bind this old age game,
why cant one just reach a certain age,
say twenty five, then just remain the same.

Tango.

Tango Tango

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seasons-come-and-seasons-go-2/