80 YEARS YOUNG

They call me an old person. I'm as old as I feel.
I can still do a step or an eight-handed reel.
I can cook my own meals and make my own bed
And those good lookers on T.V., well they still turn my head.

Some say, my she's old – sure I'm just 83
And I'll bet you couldn't tell just by looking at me
Sure, I've a wrinkle or two and my hair's a bit grey
But I'm still a good sport or so the young people say.

Now a good game of cards, well, it cannot be beat
And to accordian music, I'm a-tappin' my feet.
I read my own books and I dream and I sigh.
And I love a good chat about times gone by.

Those good old days, in the spring of my life
When I was content to be a young mother and wife.
Things didn't come easy, and we didn't have very much
No computers, or T.V.s or telephones or such.

Never heard of them Star Wars or that punk rock and roll
Or that fellow Wayne Gretsky who gets all them goals.
Can't figure that crowd fighting for oil on our shore
Don't they know that the Lord has greater riches in store.

No, we didn't have those, we had more – much, much more.
Out making the hay, drying fish on the shore.
Those soft summer days when on the hills we did stray
Just picking some berries and watching the boats on the bay.

Ah, but will you listen to me, I'm rambling on
I must live in the present, those days are long gone.
I must go with the flow, sort of mosey along
There'll be even more changes when I'm dead and gone.

But if there's one thing I have for my 83 years
Is memories as precious as a small babies tears
And the days that have passed and the ones yet to come
Are the sunrise and sunsets of my 80 years young.

For my mother
A celebration of age
U. Hynes