By Tom D.

When I grow old,

I’ll not fuss nor scold,

At friend nor neighbor,

Friendliness will be no labor,

To strangers and kids,

Yes, those dad-gum kids,

Those girls and boys

Whose bikes and toys,

That seemingly spawn,

On my manicured lawn,

With little regard for my grass and flowers,

They leave them there for many hours,

So never mind what I said earlier,

I will choose to be a little surlier,

When I grow old