Creative Traditional:

[mrsmajor]

Morning bright, end of night.
Start the day with pain.
Smile I will, took my pill.
I'm alive again.

Looked around, glasses found.
Put them on my chain.
Teeth I brush, in a rush,
have to catch a train.

I must go, tired though.
Bones and muscles strain.
I am old, I've been told.
Youth I cannot feign.

Now I know, getting slow.
Senior days remain.

I Am Really Old!

[¤Me¤]

It did make me smile Though getting old wouldn't really be my recent worry. Though you may get old from the outside, you can gain your youth back through other things. The inside can always be young, though muscles might get old with the other body My grandpa's 78, still has msn, hah, ski's about 700 miles a winter... My baby sister says he's made of steel, but anyway.

Back to your poem, I do not know if I am the right person to say anything about it! I might be all wrong! But my vision of it was that it brought to life the worries of someone who is getting old (or is afraid that they're getting old). But still it was quite happy a poem. Can't really explain. Anyway, I liked it. The rhyming was the happy part Anyway, you'd maybe want an opinion or how ever we should call it from somebody else, eh?

Thanks for the read!!